


Venture Forth and Plant the Seeds of New Beginnings

by RegalMisfortune



Series: The World is Painted in Hymns from Lips of Mere Strangers [1]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Abigail Swears Like a Sailor and Good Thing Caroline Isn't Around to Hear, And We're Going To Explore Them Too, Backstory Building, Because World Building I Guess, Discrimination, Everyone's Going To Show Up At Some Point, Farmer is 6'7'' Big Friendly Lady, Ferngill Republic, Fixed Tags So They're Less Of a Horrible Mess and More Just a Mess, Gen, Gotoro Empire, I Will Fix Tags Eventually Please Let Me Know, It Took 25 Chapters But I Finally Added Them In, Language Barrier, Letting Virgil Say 'Fuck', Magic, Maybe Valhalla Will Too Someday, Mentions of the War Between Gotoro and Ferngill, Mentions/Hints of Past Abuse, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Now Includes Art I Drew In Chapter 6, Reading/Writing Barriers, Relationships are Becoming a Thing, Slight Diversion from Canon Storyline Immediately from the Get Go, Some Emotional Roller-Coastering, Very Blunt Ways of Speaking to Make Men Fluster, Warnings Will Be Before Every Chapter if there are Any, We're gonna do a lot of building, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 122,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalMisfortune/pseuds/RegalMisfortune
Summary: A woman from one of the assimilated sections of the Gotoro Empire desires to find some peace in her life in the Ferngill Republic. She was fortunate to find a friend among her travels who could give her that chance upon a dilapidated farm out in the far country that he had inherited from his great uncle on his mother's side.The story may have different roots from where it could have began, but the growth of friendship and community between the bean trellises and pumpkin vines yields the same produce to last a lifetime.





	1. To Pelican Town

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for giving this story a chance! This is mostly a story I will write when I run out of ideas for my other stories, so updates may be constant at time or sparse, and I apologize for that in advance! 
> 
> I am going to loosely based this off actual events in the game, but for the most part it is going to be me running off the rails with half-coherent word vomit, so if I get too carried away or characters start becoming too OOC, please feel free to reel me back in. 
> 
> This chapter wasn't supposed to get this long, but the first attempt didn't sound right and then this attempt got too far away from me to keep it from becoming too much of a story, so now we have a lot of plot and background going on. Whoops. Anyway, this story is going to be sometimes serious, sometimes not, and a whole lot of learning how to get plants to grow somewhere in between the chaos that is writing different people's personalities.

The early spring wind still held onto its winter bite as it rustled through the branches of the trees, green buds barely visible in the sea of browns and greys.

The road had been silent of vehicular activity for quite some time now, the only sound other than the wind was her own breath and footfalls against the pavement. Valhalla knew that she had left major roadways and cities behind long ago, but the last town she had passed through was that morning, and she was sure that it was getting close to evening considering how dark the sky was turning behind the curtain of clouds.

A visible puff of air left her lips, the fog curling and dissipating before her. She wondered if it was going to snow, purple eyes lifting up to gaze at the thick cover above her.  Valhalla had heard such a phenomena, but never seen it herself. It would be nice to see before it became too dark to, even if the cold was damper than she was used to.

The Ferngill Republic, by large, was a strange, foreign land full of strange, foreign things. The city she had ended up in when she first set foot onto the territory was a far cry to the war-torn landscape of the Gotoro Empire. Her own homeland was a small sliver in the massive gears that turned the construct that was the Empire, and while the land itself had been consumed and forgotten by the main populace who bumbled about like sheep, Valhalla’s people certainly did not. And they were not people to put their head in the sand.

Yet, regardless of what she had done against the Empire, what she had done to assist the Republic, the people of the Republic eyed her with suspicion and treated her in league as the Empire’s main forces did of her people. She may not have a firm grasp of the language spoken here, but she could read their expressions and body language loud and clear.

The city was a dangerous place for a Gotoroan servant, even if they had defected. They took one look at her and immediately brought her to scorn.

Valhalla endured it with a smile, for she had already made one friend and that was enough for her.

That friend had given her a chance when no one else would- after all, who would hire on someone from the Empire or even let them rent the sleaziest of motels for just one evening? She was the enemy in their eyes, but her dear, small friend had found her a place before he had to leave to study abroad once again. It was how they met- both traveling to the Republic, she away from the war and he from his trip to another far away land to study up on their local history in person.

It was he who let her live in his flat, hidden away like some dark secret in fear of his landlord finding out about her presence. He had been shy and anxious and very bad with people, but Valhalla was good to him and he had warmed up to her tenacity. Yet she couldn’t live in his flat forever, especially when he would be away.

It was a simple, old letter hidden away inside a lockbox for safe keeping that sealed the deal, waking her up in the middle of the night to excited rambling. He had inherited a farm from his great uncle or grandfather of a sort from his mother’s side, and he had the deed to the land and all of its inheritance.

Long story cut short, she owned the land in all but name. Her friend still legally owned it, yes, but he was “loaning” the land out to her to do as she pleased. She couldn’t own the land herself, not with her current status as an undocumented refugee of a sort. But under the table personal deals didn’t need a lawyer or citizenship status, and Valhalla checked every hour to make sure that the letter he had written for her to deliver to a Mr. Lewis Holt to help clear up any misunderstandings.

Virgil, bless his heart, didn’t have time to take her across the country before his own departure, but he had given her enough money and hopefully enough verbal instructions to get to Stardew Valley by bus. He knew that any written instructions would be pointless for her, and so he had done all he could to make sure she understood where she needed to go and what direction she needed to take in order to get there.

He couldn’t have predicted that the bus would kick her off in Zuzu City, leaving her with a single bag that held all her belongings and a basic direction of where she was supposed to go that she remembered from his explanation.

She had been walking since then, leaving the city far behind. Valhalla fervently wished that she had picked up reading the Republic’s main language at any length, as she passed by a few road signs whose letters were entirely illegible to her. She had been too focused in learning how to _speak_ , that things like reading and writing fell at the wayside, and she highly doubted anyone this far east would know a lick of her dialect.

A rumbling of an engine in the distance drew Valhalla out of her musings, head lifting as she rubbed her hands over her bare, uncovered arms as the damp, slightly bitter wind nipped at her skin. She was used to dry cold and heat, not _this_ wet air. But if there was a car coming, perhaps she could be able to flag them down and ask if she was even heading in the right direction.

How horrible it would be if she had to turn around.

A set of headlights popped over the crest of a hill she had past minutes ago, the old truck rumbling into view as she turned her head to look behind her. It slowed in passing her- its bed full of boxes and creates- before stopping a little ways ahead of her, pulling over to the side.

Hopeful, Valhalla curled her fingers around the strap of her bag and trotted over to the window, leaning down so that she could see properly in through the opening from her 6’7’’ height.

A man with glasses rolled the glass down, his brows pinched together in a mixture of concern and something else that Valhalla hadn’t had time to read, as a mass of dark purple pushed its way between the man and the steering wheel.

“Holy shit, your eyes _glow_!” the girl said, gawking up at Valhalla. She was on the younger side, her face shaped nicely. She was _pretty_ \- but Valhalla knew that she was far too old for her. Still, her comment made her face warm as she lifted a hand to scratch at the back of her neck while the older scolded her with an “ _Abigail!”._

“They... pick up light. Like… cats.” Valhalla tried to explain, slightly amused and relieved that the girl at least seemed intrigued and not scared of her features. They were an old trait that retained within her people- some tales deriving its source from powerful magics or races of people from long ago, and the truth remained in speculation. Out here, it was clear that it was something as foreign as she was.

“That is so cool,” Abigail leaned back into her own seat while the driver let out a sigh and ran a hand through his chestnut locks.

“ _Regardless_ of how “cool” it may be, it is rude to stare,” the man admonished- not that the girl particularly seemed to care. “In any case, where were you going at this hour? It is another ten miles to Pelican Town and the next nearest town is miles back in the other direction.”

“I… walk to Pelican Town,” Valhalla admitted. “It is a long journey, but ten more is not so bad.”

The man looked almost horrified at the thought of her walking so far into the middle of no where and was planning on going even further. Even Abigail was staring, her head turning to stare at the older man instead.

“Oh no, no, no. You are not walking ten miles in the dark- not when there’s a spring storm on its way.” The man grumbled something else, his head turned away as he moved things out of the middle seat. “Abigail, move over. Miss, please, get in.”

Valhalla opened her mouth to argue, but caught Abigail’s eye, who shook her head while remaining eye contact while she unbuckled herself to slide to the middle seat. She gave Valhalla a bright smile as she patted the empty seat, leaving her with both silent and verbal invitation to join them inside the truck.

She hesitated for just a moment, the strap of her bag sliding from her shoulder as she ventured around the back, gently tucking the bag between some crates for safe keeping before opening the cab door.

It was a tight fit with three people in the vehicle. It was obvious that it wasn’t made for someone of Valhalla’s size, her broad shoulders encroaching onto Abigail’s territory in the middle while she curled her legs up to fit them in without putting too much pressure onto the dashboard in front of her. She put herself as close as she could to the door to give Abigail some breathing space while the man finished rolling up the window, the gears churning as he pulled back onto the road.

“Your arms are bigger than my entire body,” Abigail whispered in slight exaggeration, her eyes flickering up and down her form in unveiled awe. “You’d put Alex to shame! Wait, are those sandals?”

Valhalla blinked, glancing down at her feet. The sandals were old leather, straps rising high under the torn, tattered jeans that she had scrounged up from a dumpster.

“Yes…?” She wiggled her toes, frowning at the dirt that ground between them under the movement. She didn’t have any other footwear other than what got her across the Empire and now across Ferngill. They were strong despite their age, and served her well. But it was a bit too cold here. The weather was much warmer on the other side of the country, but here the wind was bitter as winter tried to cling onto its slipping reign.

Abigail leaned forward and turned a knob or two on the dash without another word. The warm air suddenly blowing on her toes made Valhalla almost jerk her knee into the door’s side panel in shock, which caused a stifled snort to escape the purple-haired girl, a hand over her mouth.

“How long have you been walking?” the man finally spoke, sparing a glance in her direction before keeping his eyes on the road. “It’s a good twenty-five minute drive back to Redwood from where we picked you up.”

Valhalla hummed, settling her feet back down on the floor and into the warm air. She hadn’t realized how cold her toes were until they had some sort of warmth on them.

“Since Zuzu City,” she replied, eyes on her toes as she flexed them a little under the heat. “Bus wouldn’t let me stay, so I went without it.”

She was too busy admiring her toes to notice the wide-eyed look Abigail gave the man beside her, mouthing out the name of the city in shock or the response of a shake of his head to keep her from asking.

“Well, that is… a bit of a trip,” he supplied instead with a slight clearing of his throat.

“Yes! Not as long as some journeys I have gone on, but it was long enough! At least most paths are in straight lines here.”

“Where are you from?” Abigail decided to pipe in. “You got a nice accent! And can I touch your muscles?”

A small laugh escaped Valhalla before she could help herself, eyes crinkling as she smiled and loosened her arm closest to Abigail to hold out to her in silent invitation.

“I am from Klo. It is… ah… in Empire territory now.” Her smile faded at the thought, even as warm fingers traced over her bicep with curiosity.

“You are a long way from home, then,” the man mused softly. There was no suspicion or anger from learning where she was from, just a mild glance of sympathy. It was far contrast to the sneers from the city folks, watching her as if she was some sort of explosive ready to go off and take them out. “What brings you all the way out to Pelican Town?”

“Farm!” Valhalla perked back up again, excitement radiating through her pores as her fingers absently turned up to snag Abigail’s hand, clinging to her as she beamed. “I got letter for… “Lewis Holt” that says everything!”

“Oh! You’re going to be taking over the old farm on the hill!” It was Abigail’s turn to vibrate with excitement, giving Valhalla’s hand a squeeze as she grinned up at her. “Someone called Lewis awhile ago asking about the place, but hung up as soon as Lewis told them it was still there! Didn’t think anything would come out of it!”

“That was Virgil! He had a letter from his… great grandfather? Great uncle? Some relation! Gave him land! He’s letting me use it!”

“That is very nice of him,” the man smiled, turning his head enough to keep one eye on the road but sparing Valhalla a glance. “Lewis will be ecstatic to see Erwan’s old farm to be put back to use. It is going to need a ton of work, though. I own the general store in town, so if you ever need any seed or fertilizers, I’m the person to call!”

“Dad just wants a profit,” Abigail whispered conspiringly behind a hand, her grin too wide to be anything maleficent.

“Building a loyal customer base never hurts!” the man huffed, although there was a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth to hint that he wasn’t upset by his daughter’s words. “Speaking of which, I don’t believe we have properly introduced. I am Pierre. This troublemaker is my daughter, Abigail.”

“Call me Valhalla!” she returned the introduction, beaming at them both. “Thank you for the ride!”

“We couldn’t just leave you out to wander around in the dark,” Abigail grinned, a bony elbow digging into Valhalla’s side in a teasing gesture. “Besides, it’s not my first stray I brought home! Mom won’t flip like she did the last time!”

“People aren’t strays, Abigail. And your mother only got upset because you brought home a rock crab.”

“It was cute!”

“It ate through our living room wall!”

Valhalla leaned back against the door as she laughed, the sound deep and rich as she brought a hand to her face. The sound caused the bickering to stop as both stared at their passenger until Pierre remembered he was supposed to be driving and brought his eyes back onto the road.

It was very dark by the time the first signs of life flickered through the trees. Pierre had gone off the paved roadway and onto a dirt road, taking a back route towards their home.

“There is Joja out here?” Valhalla asked with a furrow of her brow in confusion as she spotted the familiar glare and concrete of its lights. It was closest to the main road, the building blocking out the lights from the tiny parking lot before it was consumed by trees.

“Yes,” Pierre replied, his tone curt as his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Valhalla blinked at him, frowning at his reaction before remembering that Pierre ran a store in town. It was, perhaps, a rivalry, then.

“I do not like the Joja,” she added on, a serious nod of her head as she turned her eyes towards the darkness outside. “They are the wrong blue.”

A snort escaped Abigail, followed by a muffled giggling as she tried to hide behind her hands.

“’The wrong blue’,” she wheezed out, lowering her hands enough to give Valhalla a pat on the arm. “You are the best, Val.”

Even Pierre had a softer look on his face again, a hint of a smile on the corners of his lips. Valhalla couldn’t help but beam at them, even though she wasn’t sure why they found her words to be funny. Joja _was_ the wrong blue- it was too starch and glaring and _sad_. It made her eyes hurt looking at it.

The truck eventually rumbled over a crest of a hill, and a tiny town blinked into view. Valhalla pressed her close against the glass, a soft sound of awe escaping her throat.

“Pretty,” she whispered, admiring the lights of the quaint town. There wasn’t very many buildings, but it had such a _welcoming_ feel even in the dark that it made her feel entirely relaxed for the first time since stepping first into the Republic.

“It is even better in the daylight,” Pierre mused with a smile, pulling up beside a building. The headlights flicked off while the door to the store opened, a woman with hair as green as the future leaves on the trees stepping out onto the lit porch.

“Hi mom!” Abigail called as soon as Pierre stepped out of the car, barreling out through the driver’s side. “Look what I brought home!”

Valhalla could see Pierre roll his eyes behind his glasses before she focused on getting out herself, sandals hitting soft soil and cobblestone as she rounded around the truck and into the light of the street.

“Oh! Well, hello.” The woman’s eyes turned upward, her voice soft and surprise written on her face. She was most likely expecting a dog or another critter- not a person. Valhalla smiled down at her in any case.

“Hello.”

“This is Valhalla, mom!” Abigail popped up beside Valhalla, her head barely reaching her shoulder. “Dad ran her over with the truck and is now trying to bribe her into not suing him before she keels over with mortal injuries!”

“ _Abigail!”_ Pierre groaned, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose while Abigail laughed “I did _not_ run anyone over!”

“You have a very good family,” Valhalla murmured to the green-haired woman while Abigail continued to banter over the prospect of her actually being a zombie and would only buy things from Pierre with money from questionable origins- while Pierre denied it all and tried to tell her to stop being so morbid.

The woman smile was gentle when she turned to watch the two.

“Yoba has blessed me,” she replied, before her gaze lifted up to Valhalla. “My name is Caroline. It is a pleasure to meet a new face. Are you planning on staying long?”

Valhalla looked on at the father and daughter pair, gazing beyond at the little lights in the cobblestone square and cute little houses that loomed out in the darkness. The entire town permeated a sense of tranquility that settled somewhere within her chest, smoothing aches and pains that she had carried since the war first started in the Gotoro Empire.

“Yes,” she replied with a growing smile. “I think I will stay for a long time.”

 


	2. Shalebreak Farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla meets Lewis and Robin. Some background regarding the old farm is approached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To kaigoe: You absolutely have no idea how much your comment means to me. Bless your beautiful face. I hope I can keep up with your expectations. c:

The sound of voices trickled into Valhalla’s consciousness, gently tugging her out of dark comfort. She felt herself make a face, shifting so that her face was against something that smelled like cedar and rosemary, nose scrunching as the subtle movement brought forth an ache starting from her feet up the back of her legs and crawling across her spine and neck. Maybe she did get run over and was currently awaiting burial, her mind grudgingly supplied, and at the moment the thought didn’t seem all too bad as she tried to block out the distant murmuring and go back to sleep.

Something tickled the tip of her exposed ear. The ear twitched without her say so, a shiver rattling down her spine in conflict with the ache. A muffled giggle that was far too close to comfort finished dragging Valhalla out of any further rest, although she made certain to keep her eyes shut as she waited.

Another soft stroke down the elongated cartilage was enough for Valhalla to snap her hand out, large fingers curling around a thin wrist like a steel trap. There was a startled gasp, the heartbeat she could feel under her fingertips jolting in surprise.

Valhalla mumbled something that could have been a “no”, but her mouth was dry and her tongue heavy, so she could have just growled instead and wouldn’t have been wiser for it, forcing herself to crack her eyes open and witness who exactly she had ensnared red-handed in the act of tickling her ears.

A blur of dark purple was the first thing that she consciously focused on, followed by the familiar shape of a jawline and sharp cheekbones. _Abigail_ , she recalled belatedly through the slog of drowsiness in her mind, fingers loosening around the wrist enough for the girl to slip her hand away from her grasp.

“Damn, you’re fast,” Abigail stated, rubbing at her wrist with a delicate hand. “I guess I deserved it, though. I saw those ears and couldn’t help it. Why didn’t I notice them last night?”

“’cause you were starin’ into me eyes?” Valhalla knew she butchered that phrase in Ferngill, her tired tongue slurring whatever words she could pluck out and string together, but it was true nevertheless, a lopsided smile on her lips.

There were stories about the Gotoroan people, or at least all who came from the land far south of the Ferngill Republic. The rumors of elves varied from land to land, culture to culture, but with no concrete evidence, it was believed by the scientific community that it was nothing more than tales woven around the ears of the present-day Gotoroan Empire, who had some form of tapered edge to them. Valhalla’s people had the luck of the draw in having some more obvious sharpness to their cartilages, but most common-day Gotoroans had a mild angle to their curves and nothing more. It was still noticeable to those who were paying close attention. Valhalla could forgive Abigail for not noticing the night before, as it had been very dark, and with her complexion and even darker hair, it was easy not to notice.

“True,” Abigail grinned, holding onto her wrist as she took a step back, giving Valhalla some space to breathe and sit up to scrub at her face, her spine cracking in several different places. She had been sleeping on a couch, the leather worn but loved. She didn’t remember falling asleep at all, let alone a couch, but then again, she couldn’t remember much after helping Pierre and his family move their shipment of goods for their store inside before the heavens let loose the buckets of icy rain they had been toting around. The furniture was far too small for her, and curling up enough to make her fit after hours of walking only made her joints ache something fierce.

She twisted her head side to side, cracking her neck with a loud sigh of relief.

“Sorry.” Valhalla wasn’t sure if she should apologize for falling asleep or giving Abigail a bruised wrist or both, but she apologized nevertheless. Abigail simply waved her off, stuffing her hands into her pockets after the small action.

“Lewis is here. Think the entire town knows you’re here now.”

Valhalla perked up at the mention of Lewis, rising to her feet despite the protest coming from everything neck-down. Abigail’s gesture towards a door with her head was all she needed to wander out, following the murmur of conversation before.

The door led to a large room that was mostly empty. There was another doorway on the far left corner of the room and another directly to her right. The voices were coming towards the right, so she trailed after them, turning another corner and stepping right into the middle of an aisle full of canned goods.

Navigating through the aisles that were only vaguely familiar to Valhalla was easy enough when they all led to the same large entrance and counter. Pierre was behind the counter, arms against the top as he spoke to an older gentleman with a cap on top of his greying hair. Both turned to her at her approach, Pierre’s smile being outshone completely by the older man’s.

“Hello! You must be the new farmer Pierre was telling me about! Valhalla, was it?” The gentleman was certainly cheerful enough, his tone almost excited as the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkled. He seemed undaunted by her size, his expression kind even as his head tilted back to look at her. It made her beam back at him with her own kind regard.

“Yes! You are… Lewis Holt?”

“Just Lewis is fine, my dear, or Mayor if you wish. You mentioned something about a letter?”

“Oh! Yes! Yes!” Valhalla was feeling more awake now, patting down her clothes for a second to check the pockets. She made a small sound of triumph after finding it, admiring the handwriting on the front of the envelope before dutifully passing it over to Lewis.

She had always admired Virgil’s handwriting, and she admired it now as the older man opened up the letter and read its content across several pages. She may not be able to actually read it, but she could appreciate the neat lines and swirls of his letterings. Virgil had told her most of the letter’s contents when he had been composing it, including a photocopy of the original letter and deed he had received from his distant relative. Valhalla knew that Lewis had just reached that part as Lewis began to tear up, reading upon his old friend’s letter years after his departure from this world.

Valhalla remained respectful, letting the man finish reading.

“He sounds like a fine young man,” Lewis murmured after reading through the letter, lowering the pages to wipe at the corner of his eye. “I am glad that Erwan’s old farm will finally see some life once again.”

“I will do my best,” Valhalla answered with a determined nod, causing Lewis to chuckle.

“I’m sure you will do very well,” he patted her shoulder, before frowning as his hand came away with a fine layer of grime.

Valhalla had the decency to flush.

Pierre was very kind enough to let Valhalla use his shower- or rather, Caroline offered and bullied Pierre into agreeing with just a single look. Valhalla had offered to clean up the mess she made of the couch, but Caroline wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“You’re our guest,” she had said primly, and that was that.

Lewis was also kind enough to wait the hour it took for her to clean herself up, apparently using Pierre’s phone to contact someone to go on ahead to check up on the old place. Valhalla found out after coming out of the bath with fresh clothes from her bag on and hair finally washed and brushed back to expose the shorter sides and her ears. Abigail had whistled when the tall woman finally emerged from the bathroom, her emerald sleeveless shirt let the broadness of her arms show and black jeans snug around her waist. She had even went out of her way to dig through her bag and find her golden earrings- something she had only worn within the safety of Virgil’s flat in fear of someone trying to steal them from her within the city streets. They were one of the few things she had left of home, and she would kill if anyone tried to snatch them away from her.

Abigail ducked away out the door as soon as Caroline snapped her head around to give her daughter a disapproving glance at the teasing catcall, and Valhalla merely laughed and shook her head. Abigail was certainly a character, that’s for sure. It reminded her a bit of herself, when she was younger. The mere thought made her stifle a small sigh of sorrowful nostalgia and a shake of her head to clear it. She was here for a better future- thinking of the past will only hurt too much.

The farm was almost five miles out of town. Lewis seemed content in walking that distance with her, stepping out of Pierre’s and into the spring air of the town’s square.

It was definitely much warmer than the day before, the sun bright and comforting against her exposed skin. Puddles were the only evidence of the rain during the night, the birds putting the stagnant pools to good use as they fluttered away with a spray of water as the two walked by.

Lewis was a very kind man, pointing out the different buildings and telling their histories, who lived there and funny anecdotes regarding the family or building in question. The town wasn’t very big- the families living within its limits for years now. She was the newest resident in the new year- the most recent had been the new curator for the library and museum mix who signed in just before winter hit and had spent the cold months trying to fix the mess that the last curator had left behind. Apparently it had been a big scandal- the previous man having ran off in the night one day with every single artifact the town had collected and donated over the years and left the library in utter disarray and disrepair. The new fellow was eccentric but nice, although he did tend to keep to himself, or so Lewis claimed.

Before the curator, it had been an author who arrived a year prior, living in an old beachside cottage that he rented out until further notice, and just a few months before that it had been someone named Marnie’s nephew. Lewis had mentioned that it was something dreadful that caused Shane and his goddaughter Jas to come to the town, but he didn’t get into detail and Valhalla didn’t ask.

It was still very much early in the morning, so most of the town’s residence were either still sleeping or keeping themselves indoors until later in the day. The smell of breakfast followed them down the path that led out of town, civilization being replaced with trees and bushes.

Lewis began to talk about the history behind the farm she was to be living on and the man who had built it from the ground-up. Erwan Jernigan had been a good man, arriving in Pelican Town in his late 50s. Valhalla knew a little of Virgil’s complicated family dynamic, and could understand the sentiment of old Erwan trying to leave the drama behind him, although she didn’t mention this to Lewis and let him continue talking.

Old Erwan had bought up land that had been deemed unusable by most, the ground rocky and hilly, but he had made it work. Shalebreak Farm came from the multitude of shale that had been dug up and used in the pathways and perimeter walls, built by Erwan’s own two hands. He had put a lot of love in making land written off as unviable into a sprawling farm, converting the hillside into something akin to terraces and building the entire house almost entirely by himself. It had taken years, but the labor of love had paid off in essence even if the monetary value had not.

Lewis grew teary-eyed again when speaking about Erwan, unable to speak much further after reaching the point where Erwan had grown ill in his later years. They must’ve been close friends, and still felt the heartache of his death a decade or so later. Valhalla gave Lewis a gentle pat on the shoulder in sympathy, causing him to give her a heart-melting smile. He was such a dear old man, his heart and soul in the town and its people, and always welcoming more.

The old shale walls peeked out from behind the tall dead grass ahead of them, the path leading them passed a secondary branch that apparently lead to a bus stop that only ran once a day- a pick-up in the early morning, drop-off in the late evening.  

The shale wall opened up to a sprawling field of grass and brush, a house emerging from the thicket. The path turned to shale, the only thing cleared as it ran up to the front steps of the old farmhouse. The building itself was old but structurally sound, although it could use with a fresh coat of paint.

A truck sat out parked beside a chipped mailbox. The front door of the home was open and a woman with hair as bright as Virgil’s, although lacking the multitude of adorable freckles he possessed, stepped out onto the old porch. A smile spread across her face as she waved, walking down the steps to meet them.

“When I heard there was a new person in town, I guess they meant it!” she laughed, eyes traveling upward. “Well, more the merrier! I’m Robin, the town’s carpenter!”

Her hands definitely regaled her craft- calloused and strong in their handshake. Valhalla appreciated a strong greeting and a fellow woman of respectable strength, and so she beamed just as brightly.

“Valhalla.”

“Well, the house is structurally sound. Old Lewis here checks up on it every month without fail to make sure no critters snuck in or the roof collapsed,” Robin smiled, giving Lewis a playful bump with her shoulder. “Could use a little freshening up and the pipes may need to be replaced in the kitchen. I’ll need to talk to Clint about that. Still need to get the power turned back on, but I think you should be fine for the day or two for that.”

Her eyes traveled down to the strap of the bag around Valhalla’s shoulders, her brow quirking upward.

“Except, perhaps, you might have to sit on the floor for awhile. There ain’t much in ways of furniture. I had a spare bed I hauled up for you, but the rest of the place is pretty sparse.”

“That is okay. Thank you for what you have done,” Valhalla smiled, and it was returned.

“You’ll do alright, I think,” Robin confirmed. “I need to get back and finish a project for the Millers in Redwood. If you need any building in the future, though, give me a holler!”

“Oh, I will, do not worry!”

All in all, Robin was very nice, Valhalla concluded as she waved the truck and its driver farewell as they pulled out and down the old path.

“She’s the only carpenter for miles,” Lewis told her as they both went up the steps towards the door. “Does all the work for the surrounding towns. It keeps her busy, at least.”

“She must do excellent work,” Valhalla hummed. “She has good hands.”

Lewis gave her a strange look, but his eyes glinted with warmth all the same. Valhalla had to duck through the doorway to get inside, but the ceilings were high so she was fortunate enough. The home smelled of dust and age, despite the windows having been opened up to air it out. The kitchen was open to the living room, and a set of stairs led up to a bathroom and two bedrooms. It wasn’t particularly a big house, but it was spacious and the craftsmanship that had been put into it from the hardwood floors to the molding around the windows made it all so very homely.

This was hers now, she told herself, settling the bag down onto the kitchen counter. She had a space that she could call home, a job that she could do that would help enrich the community and herself if the community would let her. And so far, everyone seemed so _nice_.

A hard knot twisted in her gut, a painful yearning for her own family to be here. They had been separated due to the war, and she hadn’t seen any of them in some time now. She hoped that they were safe.

She forced herself to push the dreadful thoughts away, taking a deep breath of stagnant air while Lewis puttered back from exploring the upstairs, double-checking to see that the roof was indeed still intact from last night’s storm.

“There’s a lot of work to be done,” he murmured, his eyes towards the kitchen window and the tangle of growth outside. “The land’s been neglected for years, but I’m sure you will do very well once you get the land cleared. I put the old tools Erwan left behind up in the attic… I… you will put them to good use, I think.”

He paused for a moment, as if debating with himself before reaching up to take his cap off. He reached inside, pulling out a small packet that rattled like beads when he handed it off to Valhalla. She couldn’t read what it said, but the picture detailed some sort of root vegetable.

“Erwan loved parsnips…” Lewis shifted his weight from foot to foot. “They’re easy to grow… If you managed to clear the land get some to harvest, can you, by chance, give me a few? I… haven’t had any in years…”

There was a story behind this, Valhalla could sense, but she set the seed packet down beside her bag and wrapped her arms around the older man in a warm embrace before he could ramble on.

“Of course,” she murmured against the grey strands of his hair. “I shall give you the biggest- you have my word.”

And if Lewis’ laugh was slightly choked and her shirt a little damp, Valhalla said nothing about it.


	3. Days: 1 and 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla reminisces a little, works the land a little, and meets Clint.

 The remainder of the first day on the Shalebreak Farm was spent putting her things away and exploring the lay of the land with just a little clearing up the front of the farmhouse.

Considering that she did not have much in ways of personal affects, Valhalla didn’t spend long finding places for the things that spent months hiding away inside her worn rucksack. There was a closet with some shelving in the bedroom that she made use of for her clothing- or would once she gave them all a good washing. Her bag smelled like old sweat and earth when she opened it, wrinkling her nose as she carefully laid out her meager belongings on the bedroom floor.

Four shirts, two pairs of pants, and some undergarments were all that amounted to her apparel. Most were worn and fraying at the edges, the newest things being what she was already wearing. She wondered if Pierre sold clothing, but when she racked her brain she couldn’t remember seeing any. Oh well, perhaps the water would be turned on in time for her to wash her clothing in the bathtub she saw across the hallway from the bedroom, although she wasn’t going to be picky if she had to haul her laundry down to rinse them out in the nearest body of water. It wouldn’t be the first time she had done so, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

There was a small package wrapped in paper tucked neatly in the back of the bag under the clothing that gave Valhalla pause, her fingers hesitating before closing around the paper as if it was made of glass. This was her only bit of attire outside of jewelry and sandals that she carried with her all the way from Klo, but seeing the careful bundle made her eyes begin to itch and vision blur as happier memories attempted to creep into the forefront of her mind. Closing her eyes, Valhalla could still envision the silk and beautiful patterns, the laughs and smiles of her family during the simpler days before the Empire decided to walk in and stake claim to something that wasn’t theirs.

One of her sisters had made what she had hidden in her hands for a ceremony that never got to happen. Valhalla still remembered how the geometric patterns wove into the silk, the many days it took to dye and carefully thread the piece together. She never had the chance to wear it, but it was one of the few physical things that she had left in memory of her homeland and her family.

Valhalla tucked the package into the far corner of the closet, unable to bring herself to unwrap it.

The only other thing in her bag was a smaller bag, plastic rattling against ceramic as she lifted it out and undid the drawstrings, upturning the bag carefully into her lap.

There was a toothbrush and toothpaste that she set aside to take to the bathroom, a few granola bars Virgil had given her as a snack on the bus ride that she honestly had forgotten about after stuffing them into her bag for safe keeping and seemed a little worse for wear from their journey, and then came out the ceramic plate.

There wasn’t anything _special_ about the plate, just simple white and soft green swirls of glaze that was slightly bigger than her hand with fingers splayed, but it was what the plate _represented_ that caused it to be the last of the things that survived the trip from Klo.

It was an offering plate, in a way. Her people used to leave a single piece of produce that they had grown themselves, a small bundle of wool or silk, or just simply some honey if they had nothing else to spare, out on the plate by their doorstep before retiring for the night. It was said that spirits came and took the offerings, and in turn they would help crops grow or keep their livestock from falling victim to the wilds of their homeland. Some stories claimed of gifts in return from these spirits.

Valhalla herself wasn’t sure. They would offer feathers or small bits of fruit, and the next day they would be gone from their step. It could be written off as animals, or even travelers in the night who took advantage of free food. She had even brought it up to her father once when she had been a child, and he had simply smiled at her.

_“Whether spirits or strangers take from the plates, they are enjoying the offerings we provide from our own use of the land. We offer nature in return what we take from it, and how nature takes our offerings matters not as long as it knows we will treat the world and all of its contents with respect it deserves.”_

It may have been silly to take a simple plate out of everything else that she could have grabbed before escaping the jaws of the Empire, but now… Valhalla couldn’t help but feel that it had been the right choice as she rose from her seat on the bedroom floor, depositing the toothbrush and paste in the bathroom as she ventured down the steps to the front door, bending down to set the ceramic plate onto the porch with a gentle click.

It couldn’t hurt, and she could use any help she could get in bringing this old farm back into production- from spirits or otherwise. The worst that could happen was that she would have some local birds or some other small forest critter becoming frequent visitors to her doorstep, and honestly that would be better than they in her future fields digging up her seed and sprouts.

Exploring the old farmland was much better for her mood than reminiscing over the past. Most of the fields had become overgrown with trees, the branches stretching towards the spring skies while grasses and shrubs took over the once tilled earth. There were steps built into the hillside for easier access down, the wood creaking under her weight but held firm regardless of the passage of time. Excitement blossomed in Valhalla’s chest as her ears caught the sound of trickling water, bounding through the thicket and nearly running right into the stream that ran down from the mountains through her field and off her property.

She wondered if there would be any fish once the water got warmer, but the water would certainly be nice after a long day of hard labor in the summer. It wasn’t like there was anyone for miles who could come by and see her prance through a cold stream with questionable amount of clothing.

With that thought in mind, Valhalla followed the stream up the hill towards the main flatland where the house was.

There was very little evidence that this land had once been a productive farm. The years had been unkind and nature had swallowed up the hard work that Erwan had put into the land. Any other structure that had once been on the property was long since gone, age and weather most likely the culprit. She would have to seek out Robin if she got to the point of needing a barn or a shed. There was remnants of some sort of building just beyond the house, metal framework peeking out of the tangles of dead grass, but she wasn’t too sure what it used to be and decided to ask about it later if given the chance.

 Valhalla wondered how green the landscape would look once the plants sprouted and blossomed, but she understood that this would be the best time to take care of some of the land while many of the weeds were still dormant in the early spring. Too cold to plant crops yet, she knew, despite the little understanding she had of farming in general.

The tools that Lewis had told her were indeed up in the attic once she wandered back to the house and spent a good ten minutes trying to figure out how to get into said attic. The dropdown ladder honestly scared her when she first tugged on the curious string hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the hallway and had half the ladder fall out almost on her head. The wood protested under her weight as she tried to wedge her broad shoulders through the narrow opening, leaving to her fishing blindly in the dark around the opening and groping for the items that had helpfully been near enough for her to reach.

The tools themselves were slightly rusty, but the handles were very firm in her grasp. She wasn’t sure how to even use the scythe, deciding to leave that sharp bit of metal leaning against the porch railing as she took the hoe and put herself to work.

Tilling the land and scraping up the dead grasses was a soothing task regardless of the physical strain. As long as she was doing something, Valhalla didn’t have time to think much. The earth underneath the roots was as dark as her own skin in many places, rich and good for growth if the trees had anything to say about that on the hills below.

The setting sun was the only thing that caused Valhalla to realize how much time had passed, her eyes turning up to witness the pinks and oranges painted across the clear sky. And then it was her stomach that scolded her next, causing a soft chuckle to leave her lips as she set the hoe down against the tail and scooping up the dead grasses to pile them up out of sight of the house to decay away. She had been so enthusiastic about getting started, that she had forgotten to eat.

Valhalla was fortunate in remembering the granola bars from her bag.

Sitting down on the porch steps, munching away on the bars, Valhalla gazed over at her hard work. She had managed to clear the old stone steps of grass, clearing around the mailbox and the front entrance to the farm so that the shale walls were now visible. She had managed to till the land around the side of the house, the earth clear of grass and roots and ready for some planting once the weather warmed up a little more.

A few rocks had also been unearthed, pulled off to the side for her to handle later. Perhaps she should extend the path down towards the river, if she couldn’t find any of the original shale under the knots of grass and root. She had put her axe to work cutting down some shrubs that had also been dragged off with the clumps of grass and piled away.

All in all, Valhalla was quite proud of the work she had accomplished. It made her feel that she was actually _doing_ something, something that she _herself_ could be proud of.

It certainly was a change from how she was living before, Valhalla concluded, breaking off the last of the granola bar and setting it into the offering plate by the door before crunching up the wrappers into her hand, kicking the dirt off her sandals before stepping inside as the last tendrils of light slipped behind the trees.

The second day came with the rumble of a truck and two faces that greeted her on her doorstep.

“You’re up early!” Robin called as she hopped out of the truck, grinning at Valhalla as the tall woman leaned against the pickaxe she had been using to lever a stubborn rock out of the ground.

“I got bored of sleeping,” Valhalla replied with a simple shrug, drawing a laugh from the bright-haired carpenter. In truth, Valhalla had woken up stiff in the too-small bed from a rather unpleasant nightmare, but that wasn’t something the townsfolk needed to worry about.

“Well, since you’re up, we can tinker around in your plumbing,” Robin beamed, clapping a portly-looking man on the back as he appeared from whatever he was doing from behind the truck.

“Oh… hello,” he said, wiping his hands nervously over the thick apron across his chest. He had a thick beard and a thicker voice, low like the drum he was shaped.

Valhalla beamed at him.

“Good morning! You are… Clint?” she struggled, prodding her brain for the pass-by mention of the man from Robin the morning prior. She must have guessed correctly, as the beard shifted in an upward fashion where his mouth should be.

“Ah… yes… it is. I’m the blacksmith.”

“Really?” Interest piqued, Valhalla set the pickaxe against the porch, walking over to Clint. She held out a hand, and he hesitated for a second before taking hers in a firm handshake.

“You have good hands too,” Valhalla confirmed after a moment of awkward silence, her eyes down at the hand in hers. Calloused, well-weathered. He had strong fingers as much as Robin does, and she nodded her head in approval as she let go.

“Call me Valhalla!” she beamed at him before turning around to finish prying the rock out of the ground, missing the bewildered look Clint shot at Robin and Robin merely smiling and shrugging in reply.

Valhalla wandered into the house after finally removing the stubborn stone out from its resting place, kicking the dirt off her sandals before stepping into the home to see Clint’s head under the kitchen sink with bits of plumbing scattered around him, muttering under his breath.

“Not good?” she asked, squatting down beside the man, who hadn’t heard her approach and nearly clonked his head on the interior of the sink.

“Sorry!” she added as a muffled curse followed Clint as he pulled his head out, giving her a dirty look before realizing who exactly he was looking at.

“Oh, just… don’t do that again,” he replied slowly. “Thought you were Robin.”

Valhalla bobbed her head in agreement, making note to walk extra loud when Clint was busy under the sink. “Nut?” she inquired, offering out a handful of strange capped nuts she had found when moving the rock out of the way somewhere in the forest down the hill. They tasted strange, but a nut was a nut all the same, and certainly it would make a good peace offering to Clint in apology for disturbing his work.

He stared at the handful of nuts, then at Valhalla, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

“Er… no thanks?”

“Okay.” And that was that as Valhalla sat, back against the counter as she pried the strange cap off one of the nuts and cracked its shell open with her teeth. It was more for her, then, who had been running on nothing but the granola bars the night before. A little extra protein went a long way.

Clint was still staring at her as if she had fallen out of the sky, but with a nervous clearing of his throat he stuck his head back under the sink, letting Valhalla crunch away unobserved.

“The pipes should be okay now,” he spoke after a few minutes of awkward metal clanking and nut-cracking, sliding out from under the kitchen sink with a grunt. “Robin’s got the power back on, so I think you are all set.”

“Good! Thank you!” Valhalla stood up when Clint did once he finished picking up his mess, giving him a sound clap on the shoulder that made him wince and she immediately dropped her hand.

“You done down there, Clint?” Robin called from the stairwell, her boots hitting the steps as she descended. “Oh! Valhalla! We’re done with the plumbing and the power’s finally back on, and since nothing seemed to have caught on fire, I’d say you’re finally moved into your new home!”

It was almost the same thing Clint had just told her, but Valhalla beamed all the same at the second confirmation, unable to restrain herself as she walked the few steps closer to wrap her arms around Robin and give her a good spin around in her excitement.

Robin, for her part, laughed and patted Valhalla’s shoulder in sign to let her down.

“Sorry! Thank you!” Valhalla almost dropped Robin to her feet, catching herself in her actions as she rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly.

“You’re just excited, that’s all,” Robin smiled knowingly, giving Valhalla another pat on the arm. “That’s fine, but don’t let Demetrius know that you can spin me better than he can any day on the dance floor!”

Clint snorted behind them, and Valhalla didn’t know who or what Robin was referring to, but nodded her head seriously regardless, pressing a finger to her lips.

“Not a word,” she said solemnly, which made Robin grin.

“You’re good, Valhalla. Why don’t you come into town tonight and meet everyone? Friday nights are usually the busiest, and everyone’s been dying to meet you.”

Valhalla felt her face pale in horror before she realized that Robin hadn’t meant literally.

_“Oh,_ ” she whispered almost breathlessly, bringing a hand to her heart. “You are… joking? No one has died?”

“Yoba no! I’m sorry for that!” Robin’s expression was a mix between a laugh and horrified herself at the confusion. “I meant, everyone’s really excited. It’s not everyday someone new comes to town, and hearing that old Erwan’s farm is being put back to use is big news! Even Clint’ll be at there tonight- won’t you?”

“O-of course,” the man stammered, cowing under the stink-eye that Robin gave him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That’s a good man.” Now it was Robin’s turn to slap Clint on the back, causing him to wince once again at the powerful hit, only Robin wasn’t as forgiving and remorseful as Valhalla was.

“Just follow the signs and bright lights and music when you get into town. I’ll even buy you a drink!”

Valhalla promised that she would make time to go into town that evening, waving both Robin and Clint away as they left her property, the truck kicking up dust as it rumbled away, that she would be in town that night. However, she didn’t have the heart to tell them that she didn’t know where the saloon was, what a saloon was, nor could she actually read any of the signs to get there…whatever it may be.

Well, she would worry about it once she got to town, she reasoned. It couldn’t be too hard to find an obvious gathering place, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ kaigoe and Lulzlullylulz: You may think of Valhalla's accent how ever you wish to think of it! Truth be told, Valhalla is an OC I use to RP with and she got really hooked in this game and farming for some reason, and the story was too pressing not to write down. Her original language was from a draconic translator I found on the internet, so her language has a rougher quality to it. Otherwise, you may use any accent you see fit! c:
> 
> @Lulzlullylulz: AaaaaAAAAAAAAA you're too much for me please.


	4. Stardrop Saloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla wanders into town and meets a few more people. Some aren't as welcoming as others, but that's okay.

As soon as Robin and Clint rumbled away, Valhalla decided to make do with the now running plumbing.

Washing clothes in the old claw-footed bathtub was a nostalgic endeavor. It was something Valhalla had done time and time again, even if she wasn’t particularly good at removing stains or patient enough to let the clothes soak on their own for a while before trying to wring them out. The sloshing of water soaked into the clothes she was already wearing, and with no one to tell her “no” she simply shrugged and pulled the shirt over her head to wash that too.

And once the clothes had been wrung out and hung out on the porch railings to dry, Valhalla used the remaining water to clean her feet off after wiping down her sandals well and good. It would be very rude of her to show up in the middle of town with more earth on her skin than there was on the ground under her feet, after all.

With sandals clean and clothes drying, Valhalla made use of the time to putter around the house, exploring the old cabinets and closets for any sort of hidden treasures she may have missed on her first look around. An old tea set with pale blue blossoms dotting the aged sides made her almost drop the set onto her head after pulling it out of the very back of the upper kitchen cupboard, arm stretched over her head to rummage through it blindly. She rinsed the china in the sink, running water through the teapot before letting it all sit to dry while hoping that she could find some sort of tea around these parts.

Virgil liked tea, and she became partial to it herself during her stay with him. Maybe she could make him some whenever he came back from his travels. At least she would have a pot on hand to use regardless of the passage of time between them and their next meeting.

The sun was starting to descend for the evening, painting the spring sky with soft pastels when Valhalla tugged on a slightly damp shirt, tapped her sandals straight onto her feet, and ventured down the shale path towards the gravel trail that led to town. There were more green on the branches now as she passed them by, the buds in the trees contrasting against the greys and browns of winter. Soon everything would be green and full of _life_ \- Valhalla couldn’t wait to see it. For the last couple of months she had been trapped in the city, the cage of concrete and glass and steel. While life teemed through the streets in a colorful river, their surroundings were lifeless and distant as the people who lived within its confining walls. It had been stifling, being stuck within Virgil’s apartment. She knew that it hadn’t been Virgil’s fault, he did all he could to help her, but city life wasn’t a life for a Kloian, who thrived within the wilds of their homeland.

Here, though, sprouted the scents of new earth, the sounds of birds chirping in the spring air. There were no walls, no hopeless monotonous streams of people and tasks, no signs of the ravages of war and the ashes of destruction. There was _hope_ here, something that she had been almost without entirely for some time now, before she met Virgil, before she came here into this strange, foreign land.

With the heralding of new life that spring brought forth, so did too the hope of a better life for herself.

As the path turned from gravel to cobblestone, Valhalla picked up the soft patter of small feet, giggles carrying on the wind alongside the footfalls. A blur of dark salmon and burgundy rounded the nearby tree, thumping against her legs and plopping right back to the ground onto their rump.

“Oh!” Valhalla squatted down so that she was more at a reasonable level with the small child who had made a sudden acquaintance with her leg.

“Are you quite alright?”

 The boy, at first occupied at rubbing at his reddening forehead, lifted his head, big brown eyes widening as they traveled up to meet the foreign purple.

“Woah,” was all he could get out, momentarily forgetting about his injury as he gawked at Valhalla.

Valhalla simply smiled, letting the boy stare.

Another voice called from further down the road, a petite, pretty woman with auburn hair and a blouse as bright as a flower petal hurried towards the pair, toting along a child as young as the boy before her with a head of dark indigo by the hand.

“Vincent, you shouldn’t run off like that,” the woman tutted softly, not noticing Valhalla at first as her primary concern was the wellbeing of the boy. The small girl, however, noticed the stranger immediately, both hands clasping against the slight woman’s skirt as she hid behind the only adult she knew, dark eyes peeking shyly out from behind the human barrier.

“His feet were going faster than his eyes,” Valhalla said, not unkindly as she slowly rose back to her feet. It was then that the other woman noticed Valhalla, her vibrant green eyes widening and pale cheeks growing paler before burnishing pink as she tilted her head back to look at Valhalla fully.

“I… I do apologize for him! I hope he didn’t cause any trouble,” she stumbled upon her words, gently brushing off Vincent’s clothes before taking his hand, although the boy didn’t appear to notice the action at all as he was far too busy joining his other small friend in gawking at the giant stranger.

“You’re HUGE!” he blurted out in a way only children could accomplish, blunt and honest even as the pale woman flustered.

“I am!” Valhalla laughed, beaming at the pair, unbothered by how the indigo child hid further into the woman’s skirts. “And you are big too!”

“ _Really?_ ” Vincent was absolutely thrilled to hear that news, his chest puffing out slightly in pride. It was utterly adorable, reminding Valhalla of her own siblings when they had been much younger.

Being the eldest had some perks.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am,” the woman whispered, her head bowing in Valhalla’s direction in apology. “But I must take these children home now before it gets any later.”

“Oh! I am sorry for keeping you!” Valhalla apologized back, returning the slight bow with more shoulder. “I need to go to the… the… saloon?” The word “saloon” came out more like “sahlun” as she struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar word, but her smile erased any crinkle of her brow. “Robin told me.”

The woman blinked at her, her eyes drifting but keeping steadily shoulder-down to avoid looking at Valhalla’s face. There was a slight softening of her expression, although her shoulders held onto a tenseness that had been present since realizing there was a stranger in their midst. She gently lifted a hand, gesturing towards the road in the direction of the square.

“Turn right at the square. It should be to your immediate left.”

Valhalla followed the gesture down the path, catching sight of the very fridges of the square.

“I think I understand,” Valhalla nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the woman and instead giving her a brilliant smile in hopes that it would ease her visible nerves. “Thank you!”

And with a wave of farewell to her and the two children, Valhalla continued down the path, turning back to wave again when the small boy shouted “goodbye!” at the top of his lungs and eagerly waved her on.

He was certainly an excitable child, Valhalla thought with a small chuckle. Very friendly. The other two were simply shy, she was sure of it, or startled by her large size. She would do her best not to frighten them further in the future, the next time they met.

The soft glow of streetlights flickered to life in the square at the sun settled further beyond the trees, lighting her path towards her destination. A jaunty tune of music caught her ear, tugging her along down the directed path from the square towards a large building with a sign she couldn’t read inscribed in bright red letters. The door was open, bathing the step with light from within, letting the warm spring air creep into the building, replacing the stagnant air of winter’s past with the fresh breeze of blossoming nature.

A saloon, Valhalla quickly noticed, as much like a tavern in a way. A long bar counter stretched across the front, the rows of bottles and taps along the wall. A large, stout man with an impressive mustache manned the bar, his eyes glinting with honest mirth as a blue-haired girl danced around him, hands full of dirty glasses.

“Valhalla!”

At the call of her name, Valhalla turned, meeting the wave of Robin from across the bar. A man with a complexion only a few shades lighter than her own sat beside her, eyes curious. So were the other members of the bar, who also turned at the call. Valhalla caught sight of Lewis in the corner with a short, round woman, and she offered him a cheerful wave before making her way across the bar.

“Robin!”

The carpenter’s laugh rang in her ear as Valhalla lifted her up off her feet in a joyous hug of greeting, giving her a pat on the back in a gesture of letting her down.

“You certainly like hugs,” Robin laughed, pushing a chair over with her foot as she sat back down that Valhalla gladly took. “Have you met my husband, Demetrius?”

“No! Hello!” Valhalla smiled, jutting a hand out to the man, who took it with a firm shake. His fingers weren’t calloused or held the strength of years of hard work like Robin or Clint, but they held a personal strength that Valhalla appreciated.

“I heard much about you,” Demetrius replied idly, his fingers sliding from her grasp to fold on the table. “Robin and Lewis certainly think highly of you.”

“That is… good, yes?”

“Well, it’s certainly better than being on their bad side!” Demetrius chuckled, before grunting as he took an elbow to the ribs by his wife.

Before any other words could be said, the young woman from behind the counter swirled in front of them, a smile as bright as the springtime sun gracing their presence.

“Hello! Is there anything I can get for you?”

“You are very pretty,” Valhalla stated instead, not hearing a word of her question as she stared at the bright waves of blue on her head.

Demetrius made a sound as if he almost inhaled his own tongue as the girl giggled.

“Thank you! All the magazines say that blue is a sad color, but I think it brings out good vibes if used the right way!”

“It is a very happy shade,” Valhalla agreed with a nod, leaning back as her eyes drifted around the room in idle curiosity.

There was a brief pause as Demetrius cleared his throat, Robin’s face a little pink from where she was stifling down a laugh as she reached over and handed the girl some coins.

“Pizza is fine, dear,” she patted the young woman’s hand before she slipped away again with her change.

“So, uh, you’re far from home,” Demetrius began, clearly trying to erase whatever awkwardness he picked up from the brief exchange while Robin merely sat back with an amused glint in her eye. “I’m from the other end of the country myself. It’s a bit of a culture shock, going from a massive metropolis to a tiny village.”

“I like it. It is… very quiet.”

The blue-haired girl returned, toting a large round pan with something steaming on it.

“Thanks, Emily!” Robin grinned as soon as the pan was set before them, Demetrius’ hands already pulling a slice from the strange round thing that was sitting on top. “Tell Gus he’s a champ!”

Valhalla made a brief note of the young woman’s name as she swirled off again towards the other end of the bar, but her main focus was on the _thing_ that the other two were currently eating. It was round, flat, and covered in cheese and some sort of sauce as its main components. It had the scent of tomato paste and herbs, and entirely foreign to Valhalla as she scrunched her brows at it.

“You want some?” Robin swallowed her mouthful, turning the pan around so that the missing wedges were facing Valhalla for possible easier access to the adjoining slices.

“I…” Valhalla trailed off, giving the item an increasingly puzzled look before raising her eyes to Robin’s.

“What is it?”

Demetrius really then choked on something, coughing as his bite of food decided it was happier trying to go down his lungs instead of to his stomach. Robin thumped him on the back, although her expression was turning more and more bewildered by the second.

You- it’s pizza,” she answered, setting her slice down onto a napkin she had hurriedly fished for.

It seemed that they were causing a little bit of a ruckus, as the large man from behind the counter lumbered over.

“Everything all right?” he asked, his voice gruff but his eyes soft and concerned.

“The new farmer doesn’t know what _pizza_ is!” Demetrius supplied, finally finding his voice as he made a wide gesture in the offender’s direction with a hand.

“ _Pit-zah_?”

“Oh _Yoba_.”

Demetrius put his head down onto the counter, shoulders shaking as he began to howl with laughter. Robin wasn’t looking any better, her lips quirking with her own suppressed laughter as she brought a hand to her mouth.

Gus, for his part, merely shook his head, ignoring the two as he reached under the counter, pulling out a glass plate and a fork. He set it before Valhalla, sliding a slice of the food in question onto it with the silverware.

“Pizza,” he began gently, pronouncing it slowly so that Valhalla could keep up. “Is mainly dough, tomato sauce, and cheese layered out onto a pan and cooked together.” He pointed out the layers to her with the fork, Valhalla leaning in to look. “It has some herbs for flavor, and you can put all sorts of vegetables, meat, and fruit on top, but most put on pepperoni. It’s… kind of like a sausage,” he added, noticing the slight furrow of confusion in Valhalla’s brow.

“Oh.” Well, it seemed interesting. She lifted her hand, fingers turning the plate as the rest of the bar grew quiet. Apparently the others had caught onto the scene happening before them and came to watch, Lewis and his woman friend standing at the bar now, Emily near them. Clint sat alone at a nearby table, a frothing glass in front of him and Pierre beside him, both oddly amused as they looked on. Three young adults composed of Abigail and two males stood near the doorway of a side room, the darker-haired fellow sighing and shaking his head, the tall blond staring directly at Valhalla with a face of stone.

Not that she took much note of it, her focus almost entirely onto the pizza before her. She awkwardly picked it up with her fingers like she had seen both Robin and Demetrius do, bringing it closer to her face. It was much more pungent closer to her nose, but she shoved the end of it into her mouth regardless and pulled the rest of it away. She chewed slowly as the rest of the saloon waited in silence, her expression thoughtful.

“I should kiss you,” she replied suddenly, her eyes turning to Gus as she spoke.

Gus chortled good-heartedly.

“Well, I suppose that is one way to put it,” he laughed. “Enjoy your pizza, miss.”

As soon as Gus wandered down the bar to gently shake a curly haired woman who’s head was resting on the counter, Lewis approached, the round woman by his side.

“Hello again, Valhalla. It’s good to see you.”

“Hello!” Valhalla swirled in her seat, smiling at the pair before her eyes settled on the stranger, holding her hand out to her.

“Call me Valhalla!”

“Oh! I’m Marnie. I run the ranch south of your farm,” she replied with a jolly grin and a strong handshake. Valhalla was starting to understand that a lot of people in this town had good working hands.

“Do you have chickens?” Valhalla inquired, visibly perking up with interest, eyes widening.

“Of course! I also have cows, sheep, goats, and many others!” Marnie beamed, growing more comfortable at a topic she could openly discuss. “Don’t tell Shane this, but he loves the chickens the most. Jas favors the cows, though. She thinks she can feed them strange things without me knowing.”

Her confusion must have shone through, as Marnie blinked and smiled apologetically.

“Shane is my nephew. He’s usually here most nights, but he’s working late at the JojaMart. Jas is his goddaughter- a sweet little girl, whom I must get back to. You should swing by early some morning to meet them!”

Valhalla had the vague impression that she already knew who Jas was, the image of the indigo-haired child hiding behind the skirts of the young woman slipping into the forefront of her mind. Unless there were other young children around, although Valhalla wasn’t entirely sure. Still, she waved Marnie as she left, Lewis offering an arm as the kind gentleman he was in offering to take her home. Clint was also trying to sneak out right after them, but Valhalla lifted her arm and waved to him too.

“Bye Clint!”

He nearly ran into the doorframe at her boisterous call, fumbling for a second before giving an awkward wave in return and fleeing out into the dark street.

While she had been doing that, Robin had slipped away from the counter, going over to the other end of the room to talk to the younger individuals. Abigail had no problem in swinging over, flopping down into the stool beside Valhalla.

“How’s farming going?” she asked, stealing one of the slices of pizza and decidedly ignoring the disgruntled look from Demetrius who had just been reaching for the same piece.

“Good! The land looks good, I think,” Valhalla hummed, kicking her heel lightly against the leg of her seat. “It is getting warm now. I think I will plant something tomorrow. See what happens.”

“Well, if you need any seeds, I have a selection that just came in!” Pierre butted in then, sliding in between his daughter and Valhalla for a second as he patted Abigail on the shoulder.

“I’m going home now. Don’t stay up too late!”

“Yes dad,” Abigail drawled, rolling her eyes even as the man wandered off with a farewell to Gus and Emily. “It’s not like I stay up until 3am playing videogames or anything… Oi, Emo! Sam! Get over here before you mom does it for you, Sebby!”

“It’s “Sebastian”, not “Emo” or “Sebby”,” the dark-haired youth grumbled, his bangs shadowing his face as he shuffled over.

“Well yeah, but it wasn’t like you were going to introduce yourself the _normal_ way,” Abigail smirked, causing the other to blink before ducking his head, the shadows of his hair doing little to block out the color that rose to his cheeks that grew more prominent as Robin clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh.

“Valhalla, this is my son, Sebastian,” she introduced anyway, ignoring the grumble from him. “Sebby, this is Valhalla, the new farmer.”

“Hello!” she smiled, deciding that Sebastian didn’t quite look like a person who did handshakes and instead gave him a small nod with her head, her eyes drifting over to the other pair of eyes that were boring into the side of her head.

This came from the blond young man, his hair slicked up into some impressive spikes. His body was rigid, his posture almost a confusing mix between defensive and aggressive as he stared, fixated upon her ears.

The cartilage twitched a little under the noticed scrutiny.

“Hello,” she greeted him, not as loud or boisterous as she had done to the others, deciding to keep herself calmer for his benefit. His friends caught on quickly of the growing tension, Abigail’s face growing concerned as Sebastian peeked at him from under his fridge.

“Sam…?”

He stared just a moment longer before turning heel and stormed out of the saloon, completely ignoring Abigail’s following cry after him.

“Oh-!” she huffed, sliding off the stool and running after him, her voice ringing in the night air as Sebastian slipped out from under his mother’s grip and following suit.

“Oh dear,” Robin sighed, her expression growing worried. “Sam is usually very nice…”

“Perhaps… he does not feel well,” Valhalla murmured, her eyes on the empty doorway.

“Yes… perhaps that’s it!”

Valhalla didn’t have the heart to tell her that she recognized that look on the young man’s face, simply taking the leftover pizza at Robin’s behest with a small smile and a word of gratitude before waving the remaining townsfolks farewell. It had been a look of cold realization and conflicted contempt. This “Sam” must know someone personally who was fighting in the war between the Empire and the Republic, not with that blatant stare directly at her ears and simply _knowing_.

Did the others know as well? Perhaps it was simply one of those things they were simply trying to avoid. Robin and Lewis certainly didn’t seem to have any visible problems with her, and Abigail seemed far too blunt of a person to lie about it. The children she had met were far too young to completely understand, and the adult they were with simply seemed anxious- much like Virgil usually was when dealing with strangers. Everyone else seemed far too honest and open with her, genuinely kind and willing to tolerate her presence within the town to some extent.

Perhaps it was simply Sam, then, who had open contempt for her person and heritage, she mused to herself with a heavy sigh, slipping a slice of cold pizza onto the offering plate by the door before knocking the dust off her sandals and heading inside. She would have to be careful around him and his family, if he had any around. She didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, but she had to go into town _sometime_.

It had been hard living in the city with physical ties to the land owned by the Gotoro Empire, but somehow, being the focus of one singular person made it ten times worse. She could rebuff the sneers of strangers, but with an individual in a single, small town who had some sort of hate towards her person without ever saying a single word to her simply because of what she was… hurt.

Well, she hadn’t been expecting a perfect time, she told herself, sticking the leftovers into the refrigerator. There were bound to be people who wouldn’t like her anywhere she went, but… perhaps she had been too hopeful.

No matter- she would just have to find a way to let them know they had nothing to fear of her. A smile crept onto her lips as she nodded to herself, feeling marginally better.

After all, one couldn’t fear the unknown once you got to know them! Even if she never became friends with Sam or anyone else who disliked her, the least she could do was make peace in their mind to know that she wasn’t here to do any harm to them.

It was with this thought that Valhalla took to bed, curling onto the too-small mattress for a dreamless rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Sweet preserves: Your comment is appreciated despite it being on the wrong chapter! :3 I must admit I've been sort of neglecting Clint in-game, but he seems really sweet when he isn't being a grump butt to me. Still, I like writing him and I will do my best to keep him in-character!
> 
> Notes on Chapter: 
> 
> Sam's actions are derived from the fact that his father's currently fighting against the Gotoro Empire. With visible physical traits, it is expected that some conflict will arise between his family and Valhalla. I will cover it later, and I know that Sam is a usually friendly guy, but I got plans c:<
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


	5. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla explores a little of the land south of the farm and finds herself confronting her own personal turmoil. 
> 
> Also onions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started out good but got sad. I'm sorry. Next chapter will be happier I promise.

There were tiny onions in the offering plate.

Valhalla noticed the dark forms as soon as she stepped out into the dawn twilight, ready to start another day of clearing and hopefully some actual planting in. The weather had been steady in its warmth, the nights mild, so she had been hoping that it was good time to start planting.

Then again, with her luck, a late frost would come and kill all her hard work. But there wouldn’t be success if there wasn’t any risk involved, and she didn’t want to wait too long to plant her first set of crops.

But when she stepped out onto the porch, sandals already on her feet, the pizza she had left behind the night before was gone, not even a smear of sauce in sight. In its place were brown little lumps and a small trail of dirt and sand leading up the steps.

 She squatted down beside the plate, picking up one of the small objects to look at. They were a bit like onions, although lacked the smell of one, its papery shell covered in a fine layer of earth. It was as if someone very, very small had dug them up and dropped them in the plate, that or they grew legs all on their own and walked their way to rest in a neat pile.

Valhalla had nothing to justify how the little bulbs got there other than that there really was, perhaps, a nature spirit or some very intelligent woodland creature- one that really liked pizza.

The thought made her stifle a laugh. As ridiculous as the thought may be, there was no other logical reason for the tiny bulbs to be there. She wasn’t going to worry about it, though, as she reached down to gather them all. After all, a gift was a gift, regardless of its origins.

She could fit them all in the cup she made with both her hands, the tiny seedlings no bigger than her thumb. It was strange, but a good sense of strange that had Valhalla setting them back down onto the plate and grabbing her hoe to retill some of the cleared ground, planting the little strange onions and giving them a drink of water from a watering can she had to run to fill in the kitchen sink.

Well, at least she had more things planted than she did before, she reasoned, as she paced a short distance before tilling more earth for the parsnips Lewis had given her. The loose stones she unearthed went into the center between the two plots, sectioning them off so that she wouldn’t get confused as to what was what if they accidentally grew into each other. Could they grow into each other? Parsnips looked like a root vegetable judging from the picture on the front of the seed packet, but who knew what the strange onions would do.

Best to be safe than sorry.

The sun was reaching its zenith when Valhalla finally set the hoe back to its resting place beside the rest of the tools, soil caking her knees and hands and burrowed under her fingernails. She beamed nevertheless, hands on her hips as she gazed upon her hard work with bubbling pride. She planted a garden- all by herself! Now she had to take care of the baby plants and make them happy enough to grow!

She decided to take a break from her farm after that, letting the seedlings have their peace and enjoy their new home in the earth as she wandered down the steep hillside. She remembered seeing an exit somewhere at the southern end of her arm, and Marnie had said her own ranch was just south of her farm. Perhaps she could go and visit, see some chickens.

As soon as she emerged from between the shrubs and dilapidated fencing, Valhalla diverged from the foot path, favoring instead in following the stream that left her farm. It diverged into two, the larger branch winding further into the flatland, the smaller trickling to the shores of a pond. Sandals clacked against the wood boards of a dock as she scurried to its end, peering into the murky depths of the water. The runoff from the melting show higher in the mountains made the water dark with sediment, but she could just imagine how clear it must be when it all settled. Perhaps she could even see the fish living in it by then.

Leaving the dock, Valhalla began to explore the wilds of the shoreline. Most of it was overgrown with trees and shrubs, causing her to wade through the thickets and branches of narrow animal trails and losing sight of any body of water.

It was in the depths of the woods where she stopped, a sharp scent reaching her nose that was pungent yet oddly familiar. Valhalla sniffed the air, confused as to why she would suddenly smell actual onions in the middle of the woods before her eyes dropped to her feet.

A strange, bright grass was crumpled under her sandals, sharply contrasting the dead foliage around it. Slowly, Valhalla knelt down, the scent growing stronger the closer to the ground she got, sniffing at crushed leaves before digging her fingernails into the damp earth with growing curiosity and wonder.

It… was an onion. A spring onion, if she remembered correctly from the one time Virgil was pointing out pictures of wild plants in a book one rainy evening. In her hand was an actual, wild onion, the green leaves melting into a milky white stem and bulbous root system.

Valhalla stared around her at the multitude of tiny green sprouts around her, her face brightening into an awed, excited grin. She had just stumbled upon a patch of onions! Wild, actual onions!

Valhalla had to use the front of her shirt as a makeshift basket to hold all the onions she was digging up, her hands and knees staining with mud and onion juice. Some were pretty big, but most were decently sized and would make a pretty good meal out of it. Maybe she could make some sort of soup out of them and freeze it? Perhaps that would keep longer than trying to store the fresh produce. She didn’t have much in ways of spare change, so maybe she should keep some and see if Pierre would like to buy or exchange the others for some other foodstuff.

 A cold droplet of water splattered against the back of her neck, tickling down her skin under her collar. It made Valhalla shudder, jerking her completely out of her pondering and lifting head skyward. A blanket of clouds had crept up on her while she had been harvesting the wild onions, and were threatening to unleash their burden onto her head. The trees around her provided little shelter in their leafless stage, and while the rain shouldn’t last very long- Valhalla remembered Virgil saying that spring brought on sudden rainstorms that left as quickly as they came- she wasn’t keen on trying to slosh her way through mud and tangles of dead grass to get home.

Still, she had no other choice but to continue forward, curling her shirt around her purchase so that she wouldn’t lose any of it as she tried to find her way back to the path without killing herself on fallen branches or hidden rocks.

Stumbling out of the thicket, Valhalla’s sandals hit a worn path, but none that she recognized. She stared at it, befuddled as to the fact that she had been _certain_ she had been backtracking in the direction that she had come from, but the icy spring rain decided it had given her enough time to escape its cold fingers and she lost all grasp on that thought as she began to sprint down the path as the heavens began to pour down on her.

Through the thinning trees and around a cliff side, Valhalla caught sight of what appeared to be some sort of old tower. Her first thoughts would’ve been wondering what a tower was doing all on its own in the middle of the wild, but in current circumstances, she breathed out a sigh of relief as sandals thumped up the dark wood steps to hide under the narrow shelter of the doorway, damp with rainwater.

Well, at least she wouldn’t need much of a shower anymore, Valhalla chuckled to herself, shaking her head like a wet dog and shedding water everywhere.

Her eyes drifted to the door, her smile fading into a thoughtful look. Up close, the tower didn’t seem as old and abandoned as she briefly thought, the wood strong and handle untouched by rust. The hairs on her arms prickled, her instinct telling her that there was something amiss about this tower. Not dangerous unless provoked, her stomach told her. Most strange feelings were.

It was this feeling that led to Valhalla settling down in front of the door instead of testing the handle or knocking to see if anyone was home, resting back against the wood as she watched the rain cascade down in the world around her. The door was surprisingly warm, and she settled further against it with a soft hum as her fingers unfurled from her hem of her shirt to expose her harvest.

A gentle song left her lips as she organized out the spring onions, rinsing them out in a forming puddle just within reach and lining them up on the doorstep, keeping her tone soft in order not to disturb anyone within if there was any. The native words slid off her tongue with comfortable ease, quiet and a hint of sorrow that accompanied the pattering of rain, although to her it brought a warm comfort of home. Valhalla remembered her own mother humming the song when the rain came upon their arid homestead, a risk of joy at the rain’s presence but wishing for a softer fall so that it wouldn’t flood the landscape.

Valhalla wasn’t sure how the rains worked here, but she hoped they didn’t bring the horrifying flash floods like they had back in Klo.  The steep hillsides that the stream cut through on her property should be enough to keep the water from flooding her newly planted field, or so she hoped. Or was the rain falling too fast and would unearth all her hard work? She hoped not.

A muffled noise on the other side of the door caused Valhalla to falter in her song, the tune jarring to a sudden stop as an onion nearly slipped from her grasp. She thought she had been quiet enough, but it sounded as if someone was home in the tower. Had she been disturbing them? Was she being too loud? Was she trespassing?  

Yet as she held her breath, head tilted so that an ear was pressed to the door, there was no further disturbances from inside. It was all quiet, as if it had been nothing more than a creak of age or gravity finally taking effect on something inside. Still, she waited for a few seconds before breathing out the tune from where she had left off, quieter than before in case there was someone inside.  

The language of her people was odd to her ears in this foreign land, lost in the brambles and gnarled branches. It couldn’t echo here like it would back home, the song carrying for miles if weaved from the lips of the right person. Whereas many could hear the song in Klo, in the far reaches of the Ferngill Republic, it was only her who could hear the call that left her lips as soft as her own breath.

It was a lonesome thought, one that caused the song to end on a slight warble before she could catch herself. Valhalla heaved out a sigh, trying to alleviate the heaviness in her heart as she listlessly ran her fingers over the grassy tops of the spring onions.

She wished her family was here, far away from the turmoil of war and unscathed from the conflict. They had been scattered like ashes in the wind, broken and hurt from the unjust loss of their father, and while she had never wanted to partake in the voyage across the Gem Sea, the war had been killing her in ways far worse than any mortal wound. Her mother had seen that as plain as day, in the brief and sudden evening they had all but stumbled upon each other. In one look, her mother saw straight into her heart and soul, and told her to _leave_.

 _“You will rot from the inside if you remain in this war,_ ” she had told her daughter, her visage of high grace and prestige marred by the concern between her brows as she had taken Valhalla’s face in both her hands, smoothing her thumbs across her cheeks in the softest caress.

Valhalla could never refute against her mother. She knew better.

But dropping everything and _running_ from the conflict had _hurt_. She didn’t know if any of her siblings were still alive, if her mother was still alive now. She should have remained across the sea, available to protect and defend her siblings and her people and assist them in their struggle against the Empire. She had been so full of anger and heartache that simply dropping it all resulted in her leaving all but a fraction of her heart in the war-torn countryside of Gotoro. Most of it was still there, with her family, but she was trying to bury it, hide the pain under the hope of peace so very far away.

She would have been more useful to remain in the war, she thought bitterly. But at what personal cost?

“ _You inherited your father’s soft heart. I cannot bear to see it lost under the rage you received from me.”_

 _“I’m sorry, mother,”_ Valhalla whispered to the sky, the blue peeking through the grey a mere blur in her eyes, her hands lifting to press the heels of her palms to them as if the pressure would help keep the tears from flowing freely. “ _I’m trying. I’m sorry.”_

She had been left in her own thoughts for too long, a quiet sniffle escaping her as she regathered the spring onions into the makeshift basket that was the front of her shirt. She had to keep busy, distract herself from her own heartache while focusing her energy on the others around her. She didn’t want them to worry after her. As the eldest of her siblings, it had been her duty to protect them and care for the younger members of the family, and the trend followed her even out to these wild woods. She couldn’t let these strangers see her weakness, see that she was just as vulnerable as they were. She had to remain strong, a constant. A part of her was scared of the unknown and the foreignness of this new place and faces, the larger part scared at how _easily_ she accepted several of these strangers into her heart. They had extended out a kind hand, and she tripled it in return and expected nothing back- not even another act of kindness.

Valhalla was far too compassionate for her own good. Just like her father had been.

Setting down a handful of spring onions onto the doorstep in silent thanks and apology for blocking the doorway in her attempt to stay out of the rain, Valhalla squared her shoulders and stepped out into the dying trickles of rain, trying to focus on the path ahead. She felt guilty for letting herself grow so somber, but she supposed it should have been expected, especially with the high she had been feeling that morning.

With every rise, there was a fall. It was simply that she gathered more momentum then most people in her descent back to earth and tried to walk it off regardless of how mangled she came out of the fall.

The path conjoined with a trail familiar to her, the crushed grass turning into gravel. From this angle, she could see the outlines of a well-maintained fence in the distance, most likely the beginnings of Marnie’s ranch. But Valhalla was no longer in the mood to visit, even if Marnie did have chickens.

 _What was she doing here?_ The thought plagued Valhalla as she climbed up the steps of her porch. She should be fighting a war, not playing gardener on the other side of the sea. She was a soldier, not a farmer. But who was she to argue against her mother, even if any one of her siblings would have been a better choice. Even Mithra, the youngest of them all, would have been happier out here, so far away from the sharpened claws of conflict.

Yet Mithra was not here. No one was, except the eldest, who currently felt far too scarred and guilty of feeling the briefest warmth of happiness. Her hands, which had once been caked with blood, was covered in a smear of wet soil and smelled strongly of onions. It was the sign of change for her, a soft herald of hope that had been absent in her life since the death of her father.

Valhalla didn’t deserve it. Even if it was what her mother wanted.

And then she felt guilty for even _thinking_ about how she was throwing away what her mother’s hope for her, the feeling gnawing at her insides as she dumped the entirety of her spring onion cache onto the porch in order to grab the pickaxe. She may not like how she was here and not fighting, but she was here, and she wasn’t going to let herself roll over in self-pity. She had to work hard, to prove to herself and to the townsfolks that she was serious in trying her hardest to cultivate the land. She wasn’t about to throw the gift that Virgil had given her back into his face by doing _nothing_.

And if, somehow, sometime, that the war lessened to where her family join back together, she would have a safe, peaceful place for them to come to, where they wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open and worry about another assault.

It was with this surge that carried Valhalla through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, the moon her only source of light as she cracked boulders into manageable sizes, wearing herself down to where she all but collapsed into bed once the tool in hand became too heavy for her to even lift, exhausting herself into a hopefully dreamless stupor.

Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.


	6. Daffodils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla grows her first crop in unexpected timing and decides to share with everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day: I am a mess. Now comes with art I drew myself at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!

 Valhalla awoke feeling completely wiped out. The lack of hydration and nourishment on her part the day before took its vengeance upon her as her muscles all but creaked as she pried herself off the bed. Her neck and back cracked in several places, stiff and sore from the small bed, the aches in other parts of her body making themselves known as she shuffled towards the bathroom.

Maybe she should start sleeping on the floor. It would certainly had more space.

There were slivers in her hands from the wooden handle of the pickaxe, scabs and scratches along her arms from where she carried the rocks to pile out of sight. Bruises were aplenty along her shins and forearms, finalizing the total casualties of her late night clearing.

Her head felt like the fuzz on the blankets of her bed as she mechanically went through the morning routine, wandering down the steps towards the kitchen to eat the last of the cold leftover pizza. Sometimes when she thought too much, the next day she thought…well…nothing at all. The emptiness was better than feeling sorry for herself, and so she simply accepted it as she picked a sliver out of her thumb while slowly chewing the remainder of the pizza slice.

The morning sky was tinging blue when Valhalla finally decided to haul herself outside, tugging on her sandals while leaning against the doorframe before opening the door. Yet when her eyes looked out upon the yard, she had to stop, blink, and shut the door again, the fluff in her brain clearing as she fluttered her eyelids rapidly.

Did she just…?

She cracked the door open ajar, peeking out through the narrow opening. No, the yard was still bright, vibrant yellow.

Pushing the door wider, Valhalla stared at the color in the patch where she had planted the strange onions the day before, stepping out onto the porch in dumbfounded awe.

The entirety of the plot was filled with the brilliant yellow and pale oranges of flowers, sprouting out of the earth and brightening up the landscape as much as the spring sun that was peeking over the trees. The petals and leaves swayed in the morning breeze, carefree and cheerful as the colors they sported. The plot with the parsnips had small tufts of green peeking out of the brown soil, just small sprouts.

There was nothing that could explain how tiny onion-like bulbs turned into flowers overnight.

Valhalla had to sit down on the stairs, gawking at the field of flowers that had blossomed in the middle of her yard. She couldn’t understand how any of this happened, why it happened. If there were nature spirits, did they do this? There was no other explanation that she could form, nothing outside of otherworldly and magical.

Something tickled against the side of her foot, causing her to look down at the step below her. A leaf from a spring onion brushed against her skin in the warm breeze, the entirety of her collection having been gathered up from their careless deposit across her deck and bundled up with a purple string. There was more to the pile than what she remembered bringing back, her brow furrowed as she picked up the bundle.

Valhalla stopped, the onions half-up from their rest on the ground, her eyes growing wide as a thought hit her.

She had just grown her first thing.

_She had just grown her first thing!_

Excitement pooled into her chest as she hopped to her feet, carrying the spring onions in one hand as she darted inside. Hurriedly, she all but threw the onions into the fridge, the door rattling against its hinges as she burst back outside and ran towards the plot of flowers, her lips pulled back into a smile as bright as the yellow petals.

It was still early morning when Valhalla entered town, the streets quiet with people still either sleeping or making breakfast. She walked with purpose, her arms laden with the cuts of flowers she had harvested from her field.  

She went door to door, not bothering to knock in case the occupants were still resting as she piled several bunches of yellow flowers onto their doorsteps. She went around the main square before traveling down, following the houses around the block. There weren’t very many homes in town, but she had flowers to spare, she decided, setting almost six onto the step of a tiny trailer.

A river flowed through town, Valhalla noticed in her impromptu gift-giving, the early morning sun glinting off the ripples as she crossed the bridge. She hopped up to the large green building, shifting the flowers in her arms so she could pick some out, when the door suddenly opened.

Valhalla and the stranger stared at each other, the man startled by the presence of someone on his doorstep, and Valhalla staring at the fact that the man was dressed entirely in blue, his hat coming to just below her eye-level.

“Hello! Sorry! Flower?” Valhalla blurted out all at once, giving the stranger a smile as she fished out a pair of yellow blossoms and holding them out to the man. The man was still looking at her, his expression more observatory than startled now, peering up at her from over the edges of tinted glass perched on his nose.

It was growing slightly awkward. Valhalla shuffled from foot to foot, looking at the offered flowers in her hand to the man. “I… can leave?”

_“No. Please.”_ The sudden phrase in accented Kloian caused Valhalla to jerk, blinking at him in shock before her eyes widened in hope.

“ _You speak?”_  

“ _Little,”_ came the reply, the man giving a small smile before clearing his throat, switching back to the common tongue of the Republic. “I am very rusty at it. It had been years since I studied in Klo. You are far from home.”

“Yes,” Valhalla sighed softly, shoulders slumping a little. “It is… very far.” She shifted her weight again, looking down at the flowers in her hands before offering the pair back at the man.

“Valhalla,” she introduced herself while holding the blossoms.

“Gunther,” the man in blue responded, a slight quirk of his lips as gloved fingers accepted the offered stems. “That is… not a traditional Kloian name, if you pardon my intrigue.”

“It’s…. a nickname,” Valhalla admitted with a half-hearted shrug. “Easier to say.”

Gunther hummed, but said nothing more on the matter as he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“The blacksmith’s shop is just upriver from here,” he said suddenly. “Downriver is towards the beach. There are two who live on the shoreline. And don’t forget to go up the mountains. The carpenter lives there with her family. Just follow the path.”

Valhalla perked up, beaming at Gunther as he told her where to find everyone else who lived within the Valley.

“Thank you!” she waved, turning to trot around the green building and following the river up to a dark, industrial-looking building just a ways inland, missing the soft chuckle from the man in blue.

Four flowers on Clint’s door handle later, Valhalla trooped back over the river and towards the direction of the cries of seagulls.

 The sand was cool in the morning light, having not quite warmed up in the sun’s rays. A massive pier jutted out into the ocean’s waters, a small shanty propped up on stilts amongst the docking. There was an even tinier cottage on the beachside, the sound of someone shuffling around on the inside making Valhalla leave the pair of flowers on the doorstep and hurrying back into town in order not to be observed from the cottage’s windows if she tried to venture onto the dock.

Besides, even at this distance, the wood didn’t look sturdy enough to hold her, let alone a structure.

As soon as she crossed the bridge over the river, Valhalla jumped off the road, heading through a small path between the brambles of bushes and trees out of sight of the main street. The path converged near the last house on the block before it turned into gravel, the flowers still sitting innocently on the doorstep.

Valhalla ventured down the unfamiliar path out of town, humming softly to herself as the cobblestone disappeared behind a few cluster of trees. It opened up into a wide pasture, fencing on the right, the river flowing beyond her left. There was a small house close to the riverside, a woman with long, fancily braided hair and slivers of wood stuck to her collar walking up the path from it.

“Why hello!” the woman called, smiling as the path conjoined to the main trail where Valhalla stood and waited for her. “You must be the new farmer. Valhalla, was it?”

“Yes!” Valhalla nodded, beaming at her before busying herself in plucking out a few flowers from her shrinking bundle. “Flower?”

“Oh! Thank you! These are lovely! I’m Leah, by the way. It is wonderful to meet a new face in town. Are you heading to Marnie’s?”

“Marnie’s is this way?”

The woman gave her a patient smile, tucking the flowers into the crook of her arm as she pointed down the road.

“Her house is down that way. Just follow the path. It ends at her place.”

“Okay! Thank you!”

Apparently as long as she kept to the paths, she would run into someone. Valhalla made note of that as she hummed, continuing on across the gravel while Leah excused herself and went into town. The river disappeared behind a cluster of trees, but the pasture widened with every step, the fencing well taken care for and cows nibbling on the grass in the field. A few began to wander after Valhalla, curious of the new person as well- that or thinking her flowers were a potential snack.

A farmstead came into view as she crested over a hill, the silo rising high above the barn and quaint home. Valhalla smiled, approaching the home as she rounded the edges of the fence line as it turned to the front of the barn. A small blur of white scurried out of a bush and under the wooden fence, the feathered creature making a beeline towards Valhalla’s feet.

“Chicken! _Hello!_ ” She squatted down, smiling as the bird squawked and pecked at her toes, unafraid of the stranger.

_“You’re pretty. Yes you are. Pretty bird,_ ” Valhalla cooed softly in her native tongue, risking to reach out and gently run her fingers over the feathered. The chicken fluffed up and tilted its head, blinking a beady eye at her before it shook out its feathers and went back to pecking at the grains of gravel caught in her sandals.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The gruff, growling tone drew Valhalla’s attention upward. A scraggly man with a threadbare jacket stood just a little ways outside the doorway, his face twisted into an unwelcoming scowl.

“Chicken!” Valhalla replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The bird in question shuffled its feathers before catching sight of an insect and running back under the fence at breakneck speeds, its movement attracting more chickens further in the yard as they caused a ruckus over the poor bug that was soon to become a chicken’s dinner.

“Well, you’ve seen them, now leave,” the man growled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His scowl deepened as Valhalla rose to her feet, as if personally offended at how tall she was. He looked _tired_ , Valhalla noticed, the dark circles under his eyes making his face a sickly pallor.

He looked as much as she felt this morning. Valhalla understood his dour mood.

“Shane? What are you-?” A familiar voice bustled through the doorway, Marnie’s round face making an appearance in the morning sunlight.

“Oh! Good morning, Valhalla!”

“Morning!” Valhalla brightened, pulling a handful of blossoms from her arms and offering them out to her. “I brought flowers! I grew them myself!”

“Goodness! These are lovely!” Marnie laughed, her smile widening as the visible excitement that radiated off Valhalla. “Daffodils aren’t usually my favorite, but these are the first flowers I’ve seen all spring so far! I guess winter is officially over now!”

“D-daffodeels? Is that what they are? They sprouted out these little onions I planted.”

A snort drew her attention back to Shane, catching the trailing end of an eye roll. Valhalla decidedly ignored that, pulling out the last few blossoms of newly identified daffodils and held them out to his face, causing his already sour expression to worsen.

“Here you go! You get some too!”

“I don’t do flowers,” Shane growled, shoving her hand down and the flowers away from his face.

“Oh… well… take them anyway! Give them to someone else!” Valhalla smiled away, taking hold of the man’s wrist and turning his hand over, pressing the remainder of the flowers into his palm.

Marnie’s giggles only made Shane’s scowl to turn utterly stormy.

“I got to cut more,” Valhalla sighed, brushing the earth and loose leaf from her shirt. “I need to go up… up mountain for Robin. Good bye!”

And with that Valhalla wandered further down the path, recognizing the trail that led up to her farm, leaving behind a smiling Marnie and a Shane who was staring at the flowers in his hand as if they were going to catch fire at any second.

The sun was climbing high in the sky, accompanying Valhalla’s ascent into the mountains. There was an old road that led from her farm up the mountainside, and she gladly took it instead of trying to navigate her way through town to follow the river. A fresh cut of daffodils rested in the crook of her arm, the plot of hand still having so many for her to go through. The air was cooler up here than it was in the valley, the rooftops of the homes in the village and the wide expanse of the sea peeking out from over the tree line.

It was here where Valhalla almost bumped into a figure dressed entirely in leaves. She hadn’t been paying attention to the road, and the older man had been emerging from behind the trees. He almost dropped his basket of what Valhalla thought were wild leeks, but she couldn’t be sure, fumbling with the basket for a second before taking in who he had almost ran into.

“Sorry!” Valhalla bowed her head in apology. “Did you lose any?”

“No… no…” the man mumbled, shifting the basket awkwardly as his eyes shifted. “Um… be careful.” And that was all he said before he disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path.

What another shy person- there seemed to be plenty of them in this part of the world. Valhalla didn’t know if it was just her or something else… but she didn’t think about it for much longer as the scent of smoke beckoned her further up the mountain.

A large home came into view as she broke through the trees, the fine touches of the exterior woodworking telling Valhalla exactly as to whose house it was.

Robin had good hands, and here was the proof.

The door was open when Valhalla rounded the house, propped open by a block of wood to let in the warm summer breeze- and to let out the plume of smoke from within the home.

“That was my bad!” Demetrius’ voice sounded from somewhere within as Valhalla cautiously stepped into the home. The front was set up much like a shop, with a counter of polished hard wood. The door to the right led into a wide, sterile room that made Valhalla uneasy, but the voices were coming from further within the home.

She found both Robin and Demetrius in the kitchen, the man by the kitchen sink with steam and smoke curling out from under the steady flow of water. Robin was standing by the open widow, hands on her hips.

“We have a timer for a reason, Demetrius! You use it for your experiments all the time- use it for cooking every once in a while!”

“You burn it good,” Valhalla stated as she peeked over Demetrius’ shoulder, causing him to yelp and drop the iron skillet into the basin with a loud clatter.

“ _Yoba_ , when did you get here!” he breathed, a hand to his heart as Robin laughed.

“Burning is the only thing he’s good at in the kitchen, apparently,” she grinned, eyes dropping down to the bright yellow in Valhalla’s arms. “And I see you’ve found some flowers! About time those little buggers showed face!”

Valhalla wasn’t sure what Robin meant by that, but she held up the bundle to her nevertheless, a smile on her face. “I grew them!”

“Well, seems like you’ve been very successful in your short time,” Robin replied, taking the flowers from her and rummaging through the cupboards for a vase.

“Stardew Valley is an interesting case in plant growth,” Demetrius butted in, his tone very knowledgeable as he turned the water off. “The soil here seems to promote the growth of flora that exceeds any other location by leaps and bounds. Do you think you can give me some samples of your crops in the future to study? I promise I won’t eat them!”

He seemed so _eager-_ Valhalla couldn’t help but laugh and slap him on the back.

“I shall bring you one to study and one to eat! Then you can do both!”

“Now _that’s_ a sound plan!” Robin laughed. “Then he’ll come begging at your doorstep because he mysteriously lost _both_ samples!”

“I most certainly will not!” Demetrius gasped, the hand returning to his heart, although in a much more dramatic flair.

Valhalla just laughed at their antics, waving to them and politely declining Robin’s offer of lunch- “Still looks crisp to me,” she had told her, eyeing the sink with suspicion that made Demetrius groan and Robin laugh.

All in all, it had been a successful morning, Valhalla concluded, as she wandered down the path opposite Robin’s home and following the river back towards town.

Perhaps she could see what Pierre had in ways of seed and plan for when she had a bit more coin to pay for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Art is hard.  
> 2: Why can't I give Gunther flowers in game?  
> 3: Gunther.  
> 4: Thank you for reading! c:


	7. Mishap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla goes into town once again- this time for inquiry about seeds. A few more of the townsfolk are briefly met, followed by a mishap in the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter where the mood changes midway through- I'm sorry! 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! I appreciate all the support you are giving me. c: 
> 
> Also, I have answered kaigoe's comment directly, which questioned about imagining Valhalla's hair being longer. My answer does have some background regarding traditions of Klo and Valhalla's people, but will most likely not come up within the story anytime soon. Feel free to read and ask, though!
> 
> Addionally: I have a [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/) Feel free to drop in over there and ask questions as well! Be warned that it is my personal blog so a lot of other fandoms and garble goes there, but I can make a side blog for this specifically if there is enough demand for it. 
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

Pierre’s was different in afternoon lighting than early morning or after dark. It was quaint and warm, the storefront filled with more localized stock. The bespectacled man poked his head from around a shelf he was merchandizing, the pleasant smile on his face becoming more real as he noticed who just walked into the door.

“Valhalla! Good to see you! Have you come in to purchase anything?”

“I want to… price seed?” Valhalla inquired, stumbling slightly over her words as she tried to pick out the correct order to say them in. Pierre seemed to understand as he smiled, rounding around the counter to pull out a magazine from the shelving on the other side.

“Well, we’re getting a good selection of seeds next Wednesday!” he rambled, flipping through the catalog before turning it around for Valhalla to see. “You can certainly special order some if you’d like, but that will cost you extra.”

The pictures were very nice, Valhalla had to admit to herself, her fingers smoothing down the page as the images shone up at her in bright ink. There were root vegetables, fruit bushes, trellises… Or at least that she could pick out from the pictures. What she wanted the most she couldn’t decipher, and cold sweat tickled the back of her neck as she struggled to keep the utter dread from showing on her face, staring at the quirky splotches of black ink at the bottom of every picture.

“What… grows here well?” she asked slowly instead, trying to give her a moment to calm down as Pierre happily obliged and delved into a breathless speech of different kinds of vegetables and fruit, what grows well versus what sells well, the different seasons in which to plant them. It was all too much for Valhalla, between the information dump and the Ferngill lettering that mocked her on the pages before her.

“Dad I think you’re going to talk her out of the store.” Abigail saved Valhalla with her sudden appearance, popping out from the aisle that lead towards their attached home. The man spluttered for a second as Valhalla turned her attention fully onto Abigail in a look of pure relief before picking up the catalog.

“Can I have this?”

“Of course you can!” Abigail replied cheerfully, butting into Pierre’s response as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Abigail! Those catalogs are expensive!”

“That’s why we only have six for this spring,” the girl rolled her eyes before looping an arm through Valhalla’s. “Come on, Val. Let’s hang out in the back.”

Valhalla let herself be dragged through the door that led to the large open room, the space sparse of furniture. It looked like it could be a small meeting hall if needed to be, or a place to old a small party if the weather was too terrible outside.

“What is this room used for?” she found herself asking quietly, causing Abigail to look up at her.

“It’s mostly used for the aerobics class,” Abigail shrugged with one shoulder. “Sometimes we hold one of the festivals in here if the weather’s bad, but it’s not the same as being outside. Oh- hi mom! Look who I found!”

From the doorway at the far end of the room, the familiar head of green hair emerged, looking up at her daughter’s call before noticing Valhalla and smiling. Behind Caroline, another woman emerged with hair a few shades lighter than that of the small boy who ran into Valhalla on the night she went to the saloon.

“Hello again, Valhalla. How has the farm going?” Caroline greeted, folding a cloth with a small layer of dust in her hands.

“Good! I grew daffodils!”

“That was _you_?!” Abigail gaped before laughing, her arm slipping out from being entwined with Valhalla’s. “The whole _town_ was covered in flowers! Leah knew but she wouldn’t say shit to me!”

“Abigail,” Caroline chided her daughter for her language.

“The blue man knew, too,” Valhalla added, not wanting Leah to take all the blunt for the secret. “The… Gunther?”

“Gunther too?! I didn’t even know he ever left library!”

Caroline sighed as Abigail fell into hysterics, but her harsh look softened as they turned back to Valhalla.

“Thank you. The flowers were very nice. I know for certain that Evelyn loved them and now I know who sent them I can pass on her regards.”

Valhalla didn’t know who Evelyn was, but she smiled anyway, making a mental note to send her even more flowers if she figured out which house was hers.

Her eyes drifted to the unknown woman, whom at this point had been silent. Her face was so pale, staring at Valhalla with her hand slightly raised to her chest as if to cover her heart. She looked ready to _faint_ , and Valhalla’s eyebrows rose before furrowing together in worry, her hand reaching out to gently touch the other’s arm.

“Are you well?”

The woman jerked as if the touch burned her, her eyes wide as her hand finished its course to her chest.

“Yes!” she said, a little too loudly. “I, um. I forgot a casserole in the oven! I’m sorry!”

It was a very poor lie, but the woman bustled off as fast as her feet could carry her out of the room without being entirely rude before anyone else can question her.

“Oh dear,” Caroline whispered, a hand rising to her mouth in shock, guilt scrawling across her face as she watched the other leave.

“Yeah,” Abigail grumbled, scuffing her foot onto the floor with an equally remorseful expression. “Told you, mom.”

“It is what I am.”

Both women turned to Valhalla, her shoulders and ears sinking as shame coiled around her heart. Without even having to look at their faces, Valhalla knew that the woman had to been related to the young man, Sam, who left the saloon in such a hurry.

“Her husband is currently overseas,” Caroline murmured, reaching out to put a hand to Valhalla’s arm in a comforting gesture. “She’s been raising two children by herself for over a year now. It… may be best to give them some space. You’re very nice, Valhalla, so I’m sure Jodi will warm up to you in given time.”

Valhalla nodded glumly, the catalog’s pages crinkling slightly as she rolled it in her hand, her eyes downcast.

“Thank you,” she mumbled quietly. “For telling me. I… knew but… didn’t know.”

The mother-daughter pair fell silent as Valhalla did, letting the situation sink in for a moment before Caroline attempted to smile, soft but not quite reaching her eyes as brightly as they had before.

“You should talk to Lewis if you have any more daffodils. He runs over to Redwood very morning before sunrise to collect the mail. There is a florist in that town, and Pierre only buys produce, not flowers. They are always looking for local growers, and they pay well from what I hear.”

Valhalla slowly lifted her head, mulling over Caroline’s words before the dark cloud of shame casted a little less shade upon her face.

“That… is a good idea. I should do that!” Valhalla forced down the sorrow under the thought of the future, the hint of perhaps some cash in her pocket for seeds brightening her mood. “Thank you! I must go see him!”

Her brightened mood seemed to have a lightening effect on the atmosphere, a lopsided grin creeping across Abigail’s mouth while Caroline smiled patiently as Valhalla turned around and left with refound purpose.

Of course, her direction was altered as soon as she stepped out of Pierre’s, turned sideways in order to wave at Pierre and blindly walking right into someone who had been ready to go in. Two arms snapped out, one from Valhalla, the other from the man she had just run into as they tried to stop each other from stumbling. Valhalla managed to catch her footing, her fingers grabbing the front of the sweater vest, and the other had dug fingers into her forearm, half tilted in his descent downward.

“I- oh! I am so sorry!” Valhalla waited for the man to catch his footing before letting go, her hand awkwardly fluttering as she reached out to smooth out the stretched fabric of his vest but thought better of it half way. “Are you okay?”

The man was only about a head shorter than she was, a mustache across his upper lip and curling slightly at the edges. He smelled strongly of chemical _cleanliness_ that it threw Valhalla in for a loop, the scent entirely foreign to her. He blinked almost owlishly behind a thick pair of glasses, bewildered before hurriedly smoothing his vest with his own hands.

“I, I suppose that was my fault too. Should pay more attention to where we are going!”

“Yes! I should look ahead, not back!” Looking forward as she said this, Valhalla caught the sight of Lewis walking in the opposite direction away from her, causing her to slip around the man with another hurried apology before trotting across the cobblestone square, leaving the stranger in the doorway of Pierre’s to look on in utter bafflement.

“Lewis!”

Her call gave the older man pause, turning to blink in surprise before smiling, waiting for the woman to catch up.

“Good afternoon! How is the old farm holding up?”

“I planted your parsnips! They were little tiny sprouts this morning.” And Valhalla was so _proud_ of that fact, brimming with excitement at the thought of her succeeding in helping Lewis. If she managed to get flowers to grow well, then perhaps some vegetables will go just as well.

The smile Lewis gave her was warm, the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkling and his eyes alight.

“That is wonderful news! And it looks like you are preparing for more seeds.” His eyes drifted down to the magazine crumpled in her fist, and she loosened her fingers, apologetically trying to smooth the waxy paper out.

“Yes… yes… there is much I do not know.”

“You will get there in time, dear. Erwan didn’t even have a single clue as to where to begin when he first came here either, and he managed to create a prosperous farm. You will do well, Valhalla. I believe in you.”

Lewis believed in her. The phrase made Valhalla’s smile turn wistful before she caught herself. She was glad that someone did, even if she was quite sure if she believed in own self. Valhalla was certainly willing to try, though, and she wasn’t about to let Lewis down.

“Thank you,” she told to him with heartfelt honesty. “You are a good man.”

A tint of pink colored across Lewis’ cheeks and Valhalla just smiled, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder.

“Anyway! Caroline said you… can help me sell flowers elsewhere?”

“Flowers?” His expression turned puzzled before realization widened his eyes, a laugh escaping his throat as he returned Valhalla’s friendly gesture with one of his own. “Well then! That is one mystery solved! You brightened up the town considerably! I guess you have a bit of a surplus if you are asking that!”

He begged her with a hand to follow him and so she did, making sure to keep her pace short so that she wouldn’t force Lewis to walk faster to keep up with her much larger gait. He traveled the cobblestone street down towards the bridge that went led to the beach, turning to the large white house with a familiar truck parked on its far side.

“Many of the townsfolk do not have vehicles,” Lewis explained when he noticed Valhalla’s slight falter and confusion as she stared at it. “Pierre takes it every Wednesday to go pick up supplies and merchandise for his shop, but otherwise I use it to help move tables for festivals or the daily drive to the next town over to grab the morning mail and help deliver it. Every once in a while Harvey needs to use it for medical emergencies, but fortunately that is very rare. The only other vehicles in the town is… well… I believe Robin and her family’s after the bus broke down. The town’s small- no need to drive around. It certainly saves many a pretty penny when their bills come in!”

As he spoke, they walked over to the truck, the man lowering the tail gate to pull out a small crate with a hinged top. Taking her cue, Valhalla took the box from Lewis, surprisingly light but sturdy in its craft.

“If you have any sort of items you wish to sell out of town, you may put it in this box and set it on your step. I can swing by every morning before my drive to Redwood to pick up and sell it there. Their shops are certainly more varied. Pierre will gladly buy any fruit or vegetables you grow, and it couldn’t hurt to ask if you decide to make preserves!”

“I understand,” Valhalla smiled, clutching the crate to her chest. “But… what is “preserves”?” She didn’t even feel like an idiot for asking, the honest question at an honest person, and Lewis just gave her a slight understanding look.

“Jelly. Pickled vegetables. I’m sure the library has a book or two if you’d like to look. It’s the green building across the river.”

That was the building that the blue man was at. Valhalla hesitated. On one hand, she would get to explore a new building, but on the other hand, she would be stuck in a place filled with things she couldn’t even begin to understand.

Lewis misinterpreted her internal conflict as he patted her arm. “Here, I can lead you there. Gunther is a good man. Strange and keeps to himself, but he keeps the library running, even if the museum half isn’t all put together quite yet.”

Valhalla, for the life of her, couldn’t say no to Lewis, the man so pleasant in being helpful that she couldn’t get her mouth to open in any form of protest. Because of this, she found herself trudging along beside him through the streets, tucking the catalog into the crate for easier carrying as she swallowed down the nerves of someone actually finding out that she couldn’t read as easily as she spoke their language.

The last thing she needed was for them to find out while she made an utter fool of herself.

The cool air of the library tickled her hair as Lewis pushed the door open. There was a long desk directly across from the door, the walls and floors covered in a layer of dark, polished wood. There weren’t many windows, but the few that there were present were large and old, sunlight trickling into a visible sitting area with plush tables and chairs that were surrounded by walls of bookshelves. It smelled like old parchment and aging leather, much as if she had stuck her face into the pages of one of Virgil’s books.

“Back so soon?”

Valhalla reacted before she could catch herself, the crate dropping from her arms and hitting the floor with a loud cracking thump as she turned on her heel towards the sudden voice that had been behind her, her fist flying out blindly in startled panic.

It was a heartbeat, then another before Valhalla consciously caught up with her actions, the strong pressure of fingers wrapped around her wrist being a key factor. Gunther stood in the small area beside the doorway, being missed entirely when the pair had entered. His gloved fingers were curled around her wrist, half way pushing it away from his face and doing any sort of real damage in a defensive gesture. Valhalla stared into the blue glass in the frames on his nose, taking another heartbeat before her eyes widened as much as Lewis’ were as he stared, frozen in shock at the turn of events.

“I-“ Words failed Valhalla completely, her arm going slack, Gunther’s fingers loosening from her wrist as her hand drooped in her growing horror.

“Perhaps,” Gunther began slowly, his tone careful but lighter than it should be coming from someone who almost took a fist to the face. “I should be more careful in sneaking up upon one who just came from a war-torn country. My apologies.”

The look that Lewis turned onto Valhalla made her want to sink into the ground, the guilty realization and understanding pity as it dawned on him exactly what happened. She had reacted on instinct, attacking something that had caught her unaware but perceived as a threat. But she _wasn’t_ in Klo anymore, wasn’t even in the Empire’s jurisdiction. She was in a tiny, rural town in the far end of the Ferngill Republic. There was no trace of the war here outside of possibly elevated prices and whispered rumors and news.

The claws of panicked horror grasped her heart and squeezed it with uncaring strength, and Valhalla _knew_ that she couldn’t stay there a second longer.

“I-I leave,” was all she could say in a breathless ramble, her accent thickening in her throat and butchering the simple words as she scooped up the crate from the floor and burst back out of the door, the handle banging against the wall and rattling its hinges as she bolted from the building.

“Valhalla, wait!”

Valhalla didn’t wait, ignoring the call from Lewis as she hurried across the bridge and through town, mumbling an apology to someone she bumped into as they emerged from a small path between two houses. She followed the gravel out of town, her steps slowing as she stumbled towards a tree, rounding to its other side in order to hide from the view of the path. She plopped down onto the grass, the crate haphazardly discarded at her side as she dropped her head back against the bark, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes as she tried to remember how to breathe.

An idiot. That was what Valhalla was. A foolish, bumbling, violent idiot. She had almost _assaulted_ someone she had only briefly met once, just because they happened to startle her from behind. She couldn’t believe she had just done that, right in front of the mayor, no less. Lewis was a kind man, but people reacted different to violent actions of another. She didn’t want pity, but she didn’t want to be hated either. She just wanted peace, a little sliver of what she used to have before this disaster of a war ever started.

Perhaps she was being foolish in hoping to find it, but hoping was all she had left to keep herself going.

Valhalla didn’t know how long it was before she eventually picked herself up from the ground, taking the crate back up as she slowly made her way back down the path towards the southern end of the borrowed farmland.

At Marnie’s she had to duck behind a cluster of bushes as the familiar back of Lewis stood in the open doorway, talking to the rancher. They were too far away to make out words, but Marnie looked distinctively worried, and Valhalla couldn’t bring herself to be spotted.

She waited until the pair left the ranch, taking the path back to town together before she crept out and continued on in the opposite direction.

The sun was setting down behind the horizon when Valhalla trudged up the steps of the old farmhouse, the crate set at the bottom of the stairs and slightly crumpled magazine in hand. The daffodils looked lovely in the fading sunlight, bringing a little hollow calmness to Valhalla’s heart. It did enough to motivate her to rummage through the kitchen, using an old pan to cook up some of the spring onions. Although eating just onions wasn’t exactly a healthy meal, there wasn’t much else Valhalla could eat, the thought of buying groceries while at Pierre’s slipping from her mind entirely as she got caught up on the thought of seeds.

Valhalla sighed deeply as she placed an uncooked onion into the offering plate, sitting down on the step to let in the warm spring breeze into her home as she poked through her own plate of cooked vegetable. It was so very quiet out here, with nothing more than the wind through the budding branches and the song of a few birds. It was nice, Valhalla decided on, scraping a fork across the plate to collect the remaining scraps.

Even if the town grew to dislike her, at least she was far enough away from them in this small sanctuary surrounded by nature. It would be lonely though, and although Valhalla mentally told herself that was fine as she washed the plate in the kitchen sink and went to get ready for bed, in her heart she knew that she would always be a person who craved for any sort of contact with another person.

She just had to rely on the hope that the townsfolk would understand that her actions in the library weren’t deliberate.


	8. The Parsnip Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla's crop of parsnips finally pays off at surprising speeds. An encounter with Morris occurs, along with meeting Evelyn for the first time. Linus and Sebastian are also met again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! I appreciate all the support! 
> 
> I actually have some idea of where this story is going, surprisingly enough. Will there be pairings? Yeah, probably. I got one in mind, truth be told. Will it change the rating for this story? Probably not? I haven't thought that far ahead yet. 
> 
> This chapter contains some mention of potentially fictional creatures eating hearts and enslaving souls. Nothing graphic, but if that's not your jazz, then that's okay. Also contains bad math, because I am too tired to calculate out exact pay value of parsnips so I made it up. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Valhalla spent the next two days on the farm. A part of the reason was that she was avoiding interaction with the people whom she may have offended, the main reason was that spring had come with full force in the middle of the night.

It was like a switch had been flipped. One day there was nothing but tiny buds on the trees, the next everything was so vibrantly _green_ that Valhalla had to pause for a moment just to take it all in. Grass had also begun to encroach onto the pathways yet again, creeping their spindly, leafy fingers up alongside the shale slabs that she had just cleared only days ago.

Nature, it seemed, was a force to be reckon with here in the Valley.

Valhalla had also cleared out the last of the daffodils from her field. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, the blossoms were very pretty, but she needed the cash, and she was currently eating her way through the spring onions she had harvested in order to keep herself from going into town just a little bit longer. She had woken up in the early hours of the morning to cut the flowers, wrapping the ends of the stems in wet paper towels she had found under the bathroom sink to keep them from drying out as she placed them carefully into the crate.

Valhalla had made sure all the lights were off when the familiar rumble of an engine rolled up to the property, the box gone when she peeked out after Lewis left, and returned about an hour later empty and the flag to her mailbox sticking up.

The two days as well had been a boon in mail. Valhalla stared at the pamphlets and letters with guilty horror, worrying her lower lip something fierce as she flipped over the envelopes and opened up the pamphlets to see if she could pick out anything she could recognize. It was a futile effort, and Valhalla stuffed them all into an empty drawer in the kitchen and hoped silently that there wasn’t anything too important in their contents.

The only thing she could do anything with was the pouch of coin that Lewis had left in her mailbox, the extra cash something she desperately needed. It had been a huge relief that money was relatively the same here as it was back in Gotoro- the only difference was that here it was minted with gold, whereas Gotoro favored silver. Otherwise there was no difference, and the couple hundred coins were a profit in her books regardless of the metal they were minted from.

The following morning was also when the parsnips decided to join in on the explosion of growth. Valhalla was flummoxed at the speed at which plants seemed to grow here, but she didn’t question it as she all but picked up the root vegetable off the ground, the things having grown so fast that they were literally popping out of the soil. There were dozens upon dozens of milky-white roots, and Valhalla knew that it was time to bare face and go back into town.

Without any other means to carry her harvest, Valhalla stuck them all into the small shipping box, careful in carrying it the several miles down the worn path to town, her hands and knees still covered in earth and grass stains. Harvesting them all had taken a good while, and it was already mid-morning when Valhalla came trudging into town, hoping for the best but mentally preparing for the worst.

Yet the first person she bumped into was an old woman puttering about the flowerboxes around the town’s square. The woman didn’t notice her at first, but must’ve heard her feet as her head turned towards her, giving a pleasant smile in her general direction and a “good morning, dear,” while she turned back to dig into the soil with a trowel.

Her eyesight mustn’t be good, but Valhalla smiled regardless and moved closer.

“Good morning. We have not met, I don’t think.”

Her accent caught the woman’s attention as she turned, blinking twice as the closer proximity made her realize that it hadn’t been just any other townsfolk as the woman gasped.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear. These poor eyes don’t see well as they used to.” The elder set the trowel down, carefully wiping her hands onto her apron. “You must be the new farmer. I’m Evelyn, but you can call me Granny.”

“Valhalla. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Granny.”

A soft laugh left Evelyn, reaching out to give Valhalla’s offered hand a gentle pat with withered fingers.

“Just Granny is fine. Now, I mustn’t keep you from your trip.” He eyes traveled to squint at the box under one of Valhalla’s arm, giving Valhalla another soft pat before letting go. “Have a good day, dearie. Don’t be a stranger.”

Evelyn was very nice, Valhalla decided, as she bid the woman farewell before continuing across the square towards Pierre’s. Just like most of the people she had met in this town so far.

She just hoped that she hadn’t ruined it all because of her own foolish actions.

The bell of Pierre’s jingled cheerfully as Valhalla stepped into the shop, beaming from ear to ear.

“Pierre! Guess what!”

Pierre lifted his head from the catalog he was thumbing through, quirking an eyebrow in her direction as he set the booklet down.

“What?”

Valhalla merely grinned, heaving the crate onto the counter. Pierre observed her barely contained glee for a moment before resigning himself to find out himself by lifting the lid off the shipping crate. His face of reluctant humoring turned to shock then awe as he lifted the top higher, his mouth opening and closing for a moment as he tried to find words.

“Those are… the biggest parsnips I’ve seen.”

Valhalla brimmed with pride, reaching into the box to pull out six parsnips.

“These are reserved. The rest I will sell. Can I have seeds?”

“I-of course you can have seeds!” Pierre blustered a little, pulling the vegetables out of the crate and lining them up onto the counter as he counted. He hummed a little, his glasses sliding down his nose as he tapped away at a calculator for a moment, eyeing the parsnips the back at his numbers.

“I’ll give you 1,300g for the lot.”

Valhalla stared at him, frozen in place before her eyes widened in her own shock.

“Really?! How much seed can I buy with that?”

Pierre was good at his job, Valhalla had to give him that, as he pulled out several different kinds of tiny packets with pictures on them, telling them their prices and how long they would take to grow. Valhalla decided to buy a little bit of each, content in gazing upon the pretty waxy pictures on the tiny packets.

She had a little left over from the sale of the parsnips that she also decided to get some well-needed shopping done. Fresh food-stuffs, other important necessities that she had been neglecting upon since her arrival. And fruit. A ton of fruit. She went mostly by the pictures and familiarity with the boxes and cans, but the fruit, she knew without even having to look- although she had to in order to ascertain their freshness.

It was in the middle of a comparison between fresh oranges when the familiar jingle of the bell signaled someone else entering the store. Valhalla didn’t pay much heed to it, deciding that she deserved a little treat and took both oranges into her growing basket of goodies and headed back out of the aisle towards the counter.

At the end of the aisle, however, Valhalla could get a better view of the main storefront and paused. A short, wide man stood with a suit and bowtie before the counter, a strange sort of smile on his face that she immediately couldn’t trust. Pierre looked… barely restrained, his face passive but his knuckles white as he gripped the counter, tension leaking out of every pour. He appeared as if he was just a breath away from decking the strange man, and Valhalla decided it was best to intervene by coming up and gently pushing by the stranger in order to get to the counter.

“How much?” Valhalla asked brightly, pretending that whatever interaction that had happened between Pierre and the stranger went entirely out of her notice, beaming at Pierre who had to take a breath to steady himself and loosen his death grip on the counter’s edge.

“You know, you could buy all of these products for half the price at JojaMart,” the stranger drawled, peering into the basket with a critical eye even as Pierre began to ring up her wide collection of fruits. “Since you’re new to the local area, you can get a first-time shopper’s discount on top of a 50% off coupon I’d be more than happy to give to you.”

Pierre was going to bruise the bananas that were in his hands. Valhalla hummed.

“You know, you’re right,” she said suddenly, causing Pierre to nearly drop the bananas. “I could buy _two_ oranges instead of the bananas! That’ twice as many oranges as I had before!” She turned around, clapping the short man on the back with enough force to even cause Pierre to wince, her smile bright.

“Thank you, you strange _sepavir_.” And with that she hurried back to the fruit stand to get two more oranges, bringing them up to the counter and ignoring the frozen smile that was plastered on the man’s face.

“How much, Pierre?”

“1,521g, ma’am,” Pierre said as politely as he could, although there was a faint hint of a smile trying to be repressed, his eyes flickering from her to the shorter man. It was cutting into the money she had between the daffodils and the little that Virgil had given her, but she couldn’t go without the seeds or multiple pieces of fruit, even if they were both out of season and pricy due to inflation.

“Excuse me,” the man in question butted into Valhalla’s careful counting, her brows scrunched together as she tried to keep the numbers in check by organizing them by stacking them into manageable values. “But what did you just call me?”

“Hm?” Valhalla paused, finishing the pile of ten before she had the mental focus to understand what the stranger had asked. “Oh, you mean a _sepavir_?” She hummed, going back to finish counting as Pierre gladly counted along, his ears trained on the conversation while his eyes remained politely down onto the cash and assisting her in the hefty sum.

“They are beings of my homeland, come out to those without food or water far from home. They promise a safe return to the traveler’s family, not saying that there is a cost to their goodwill. Accept it and you will find strength to make it home, but as soon as your loved ones see you, the _sepavir_ rises up before you and devours your family’s hearts before whisking your soul away into chains of molten iron and a lifetime of service. After all, what _is_ the cost of a life?”

She finished counting, her attention turning from the counter to the man who stood beside her. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled, reaching out to tap the man on the nose with a finger.

“You see, you remind me of the _sepavir_. Your smile is as false as your words. Yet sometimes the empty bodies that belonged to the stolen souls become _sepavir_ themselves, searching in vain for their soul amongst the living. But don not worry- I believe you will find your soul soon enough, my strange small _sepavir_ friend.”

Valhalla couldn’t read the expression that was on the man’s face. It flitted through several, before settling on something that was akin to a boggle, viewing her entirely as insane. He cleared his throat, smoothing out his suit.

“Well, I have places to be, workers to manage,” he stated, not looking at either Pierre or Valhalla as he made his departure out the door with a cheerful tinkling of the bell, leaving the pair standing alone in the store in silence.

A loud, sudden snort broke the air, Pierre suddenly slipping down to hide behind the counter, hands over his mouth and nose. Valhalla leaned over the counter to make sure he was alright, sitting on the floor with his shoulders shaking, but a bark of a laugh left his lips told her quite clearly that he was perfectly fine.

“Oh Yoba, I’ve never seen Morris’ face do that before! He just-“ He lost his words in his laughter, his glasses being pushed up to his hairline as he buried his face in his hands.

Valhalla decided that her task was done, piling her purchases into the shipping crate with the parsnips on top while Pierre lost all sense of decorum on the floor behind the counter. She left him with the simple ring of the bell of the door, his laughter following her into the square before the door shut itself behind her.

The square was unusually empty for a warm spring day. The tools beside the flowerboxes proved that someone had been there and was planning on coming back. Was it lunchtime already?

Valhalla took advantage of it, walking down the cobblestones towards Lewis’ house. She left a pair of the remaining parsnips in his mailbox, the largest of the crop, as promised. A part of her wanted to give them to him in person, but she didn’t know if she could, not after the whole debacle in the library he had witnessed.

Settled on her decision, Valhalla shouldered her shipping crate once again and trudged away from Lewis’ home, back up the street and around Pierre’s, following the path that led alongside the river upstream.

She hadn’t been in this part of the Valley yet, but they led up into the mountains. She saw what she thought was the edge of a rooftop peeking out from behind the tree line and shrubs that overgrew one of the diverging paths, but Valhalla decided against exploring as she went further up the mountain, the air growing cooler with every step.

The river, as she had been following it, was growing wider, not as meandering as it was down in the valley. It opened up into a lake once she stepped out of the tree line, and Valhalla could only stop and stare at the sunlight glinting off the calm waters.

It looked so _peaceful_ , Valhalla creeping closer to the water’s edge to peer at the glistening water, her sandaled feet sinking slightly into the soft earth. There was little else up here aside from the song of birds and the rustling of sprouting leaves in the breeze.

A different kind of rustle snapped Valhalla’s attention from the lake and behind her, a familiar, weathered face of the old man she had ran into during the previous hike up the mountain appearing out from behind a bush, carrying a few harvested spring onions by the stems. He stopped when he spotted her watching him, shifting uncomfortably as he not so subtly tried to hide the onions behind him.

Valhalla smiled benignly.

“Hello. Would you like an orange?”

She would have offered the parsnips, but there was something about giving fruit away that was more… personal to Valhalla. Perhaps it was because she was so devotedly favored towards them that her own family used to call her a fruit bat, and so to offer something as a fruit to a stranger and not covet it as reverently as an entire pile of treasure was almost entirely foreign.

But the man before her seemed like someone who would appreciate an orange, the simple wildness about the way his clothes were weaved from natural materials, his beard and hair unkempt and face weathered by the elements themselves made Valhalla believe him to be in more in step with some of her own people than the townsfolk who lived down the mountain. And the way he acted was shy, wanting to keep to himself and fearing rebuttal as his eyes followed her hand up to the crate to pull out the orange.

All this together was why she held one round fruit out to him, smiling gently but unmoving, giving him the space to accept or decline her offer. He hesitated at it, his eyes flicking from the orange to her face before he shuffled closer, dirtied fingers reaching out to take the orange as if it was something that would break as soon as he touched it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, backing up several paces as he did so. He examined the orange in his hand, although one eye never seemed to leave Valhalla.

“Linus,” was all he said, before he turned and disappeared into the growing foliage, his clothing camouflaging him entirely within the element.

“Nice meeting you, Linus!” Valhalla called after him regardless, lifting her empty hand to wave. Still shy, but she felt that she was getting through to him gently. Perhaps in due time, he would be able to help her find other wild plants that she could eat in between crops.

It was when she turned to face the lake again that Valhalla spotted a familiar path branching away just a few hundred feet down the trail she just climbed up. Between the new growth of leaves, the opposite direction, and the cliffs of the mountainside, Valhalla had entirely missed the path she had taken to get back from Robin’s just days prior. How did she miss the lake then was beyond her, but Valhalla had been distracted by the thought of seeds that it would have been easy to miss.

Leaving the lake behind, Valhalla backtracked and got onto the correct path, winding up the mountain once again to a cleared patch in the forest. The garage door was open this time, a pair of legs sticking out from underneath a motorcycle.

She made sure she shuffled her feet loud enough so the person could hear her coming before squatting down beside the mechanic.

“Hello!”

A head of black and smeared with grease appeared from underneath the pipes, vaguely familiar at first before it clicked as to where Valhalla had seen the boy before.

“You are… Sebastion?” she inquired, inflecting more strongly on the vowels than the name intended. Still, the darkly-dressed young man nodded with a grunt, sliding back under to work.

“If you want my mother, she’s in the kitchen,” was his curt reply. He didn’t sound in a particular good mood, and Valhalla knew not to linger and bother him further.

“Okay, thank you,” was the only thing she said further to him, rising up from her position beside him and carrying the crate to the attached door in the garage that led into the house proper. Robin was, in fact, in the kitchen, her hair wrapped into a lazy bun in order to keep it from getting into the sandwich she was making.

“Hello Valhalla,” she greeted, lifting her hand to stick her mayonnaise-covered finger into her mouth to clean them briefly.

“I brought produce, as asked!” Valhalla set the crate onto the table, cracking it open to pull out the remaining bundles of parsnips. “One to eat, one to examine, and the rest to share!”

Robin laughed, wiping her fingers on her shirt before plucking the parsnips from Valhalla’s grasp.

“Well! Demetrius will be happy about that!” she grinned, putting the vegetables into a bowl that had been sitting out to dry in the dishrack. “You’ve done a good job on your first harvest. At this rate you may have enough surplus to sell and buy a coop or a barn!”

“Really?”

Urged on by the simple inquiry, Robin happily supplied Valhalla with the thoughts of barns and coops for chickens and cows and all sorts of cattle that Valhalla didn’t even know she could raise. They were expensive, but she managed to get the price down by cutting into the cost of wood- offering Robin free reign of the trees that had taken over much of her farm.

“Well, I’ll only take what I need!” Robin smiled, clapping Valhalla on the back. “Let the smaller guys a chance to grow with the bigger fellows out of the way! Don’t want to upset the dynamics that have thrived for the past ten years or so. Plus the run-off from all the loss of trees would ruin the topsoil.”

It made sense to Valhalla, even if some of the words didn’t. But with that deal made, and the promise of a discount for any other wood projects Valhalla could come up with, Valhalla left Robin with her crate of goods within the hour to trudge back down the mountain towards home.

She had crops to plant before nightfall, after all, and every minute counted.


	9. Rasmodius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla finally meets Rasmodius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Sweet preserves: If you think my updates for this fic is impressive, please do not actually look at all my unfinished projects I have c; Still thank you for the kind words!
> 
> @bunny_h0p: I'm glad you like the story! Lewis and Valhalla will meet again soon! As for romances, I'm curious as to what you think, but at the same time it's a secret c:<
> 
> @Monatae: Thank you! I will do my best to keep the characters going smoothly <3
> 
> @everyone else who commented/kudoed this story: THANK YOU VERY MUCH. I love you.
> 
> Enjoy!

There was something of a miniature plateau on the farm, hidden across the stream that ran through the land and behind a copse of trees. It was littered with boulders and rocks, some having been exposed through the elements, some clearly dumped there at some point and forgotten about.

The pickaxe rang in rhythm with her swings, shirt discarded long ago as sweat tickled down the back of Valhalla’s neck in the warm morning sun. She could see the very top of the roof of the farmhouse from here, peeking up from behind the trees on the hillside above her, but wished she could see her plants. Just to keep an eye on them. She spent a lot of money on the seedlings that were just sprouting out of the earth, reaching for the sun, and Valhalla didn’t know what she would do if they just… didn’t grow.

She tried not to think about it, the metal cracking against the stone in a spluttering spark.

Valhalla had come up here after watering and tending to her crops after remembering it existed in the first place to break up some of the many rocks and boulders, an idea of adding new stone walls on top of repairing the preexisting ones already forming in her mind. The stone here wasn’t quite the original shale, but it would possibly be more durable in the long run, not as fragile in its layered sheets.

The bonus was that these rocks also contained crystals, Valhalla careful to chip around the mineral formations that formed within the structures of the rocks themselves. There was an array of greens, yellows, blues, and purples that were now resting on top of her shirt, some glinting in the light, others not even close to being refractive. She could comfortably guess at a few- a large chunk of jade having surprised her when it came into light after she broke through a boulder, the smooth green surface causing her to run her hands over it in awe. The rest remained a mystery, but at least they were pretty. They would make the sill of the kitchen window look nice.

It was peaceful out here, hammering away at rocks. The humidity was starting to get to Valhalla, though, even with the occasional gentle breeze that rustled through the trees. It was the reason why she had already shed her shirt, dust turning her skin almost grey as she cracked a corner of a boulder into a more manageable piece. A jump into the stream was sounding more and more appealing, a way to clean herself and her sweaty clothes. After all, it was just her, the birds, and the man with the dark, royal purple hair.

…Wait.

Valhalla stopped, the pickaxe over her head as she stared. There was, in fact, a man with deep purple hair that was visible underneath the brim of the dark hat he was wearing. He was also wearing what looked like robes or a cloak, dark enough to contrast his hair so it stood out. He was just below the plateau, mostly hidden in the shadows of the trees, also his head was tilted upward as he gazed up at her.

“…Good morning?”

What else would someone say to a stranger who was in the middle of the woods with her, watching her hammer out some rocks? She was more surprised than anything else, her eyebrows rising to her sweaty hairline as she lowered the pickaxe from its upswing.

“…Greetings,” the man replied after a brief pause that was just starting to border on awkward, the brief tilt of his head in a bow following his statement. He had a beard, she suddenly realized- that was why she could see so clearly what color his hair was. Easier to see when it was both on the back and on the front of his head, after all. He was still staring, and while Valhalla wasn’t particularly shy, there was a strange creeping feeling up her spine that she only felt hiding under the roof of the tower in the woods beyond Marnie’s ranch.

“Give me a minute?” she called to him, shouldering the pickaxe as she turned away to get back to her shirt and pile of pretty rocks and shiny crystals. She simply bundled them up, not bothering to put her shirt back on as she practically slid her way down the steep path that led up to the miniature plateau, walking around it to where she had last seen the man.

He was, in fact, still there, his hands hidden in his sleeves as he turned his eyes to her as she made her way through a thicket.

“Hello! Would you like some tea?” was the first thing that left her mouth as soon as she pulled her foot out of the tangle of branches, twigs and leaves clinging to her pantleg as she beamed at the stranger. The man in question raised a single eyebrow, observing her for a moment.

“I suppose I can indulge you in a few minutes of my time,” he stated slowly, and her smile only widened.

“Okay! Follow me!”

Trudging over the narrow footbridge and back up the slopes to the farmhouse seemed to take an hour when it was only a few minutes. The strange man didn’t say anything, but with her back to him she could feel the tickling sensation of his gaze directly on her, or rather the swath of skin of her back.

It made Valhalla feel very self-conscious about it, the pickaxe shifting slightly on her shoulder as she adjusted it. She knew that the large tattoo on her back had been very colorful and beautiful once, as is the deer-like creature with four eyes and the antlers that spiraled from its skull and branched out like a massive tree and adorned in delicate flowers that had etched upon her flesh, but the plethora of scars that striped across her skin cut over the image, leaving it distorted and ruined from its original beauty.

War did that to a person, she supposed, dropping the pickaxe on the porch step as she knocked the dirt off her sandals and climbed up to the door. The eyes finally slid from her back, Valhalla not noticing the man had stopped at the top of the step until she turned around with the door open to see him looking at the offering plate by her feet.

“Don’t mind that,” she said lightly. “Come in!”

She left the door open as she made a beeline straight to the kitchen sink, dropping the bundle of cloth and minerals onto the counter and sticking her head under the faucet to soak her head in the cool stream of water. She turned the water off, halfway ready to shake her hair out before realizing she had company and decided against it, instead going to just drip water down her shoulders and plop quietly onto the floor as she bumbled around the kitchen trying to remember where she put the kettle.

“You practice the Old Ways.”

The sudden statement made Valhalla turn to look over her shoulder blinking. The strange man was standing idly somewhere in what should be the living room, the door shut without her hearing it close. She stared at the man in confusion, until figuring that he was most likely mentioning the use of the offering plate.

“…It seemed fitting,” she murmured, filling the kettle with water. “Something from home...”

She set the kettle onto the stove, melancholy seizing her heart, although she was quick to hide it as she lifted her head to rummage through the cupboard.

“What kind of tea would you like? I got…” She pulled the two boxes out, bringing one to her nose and sniffing. “Something that smells lemony and-“ She repeated the gesture with the second box. “Something green?”

Valhalla turned back to the stranger, who had an eyebrow raised yet again, amusement hinted in his eyes.

“Something green will be fine,” he answered, playing along and thankfully not questioning why she couldn’t just read the label that was brazenly sprawled across the front and sides of the boxes.

“Something green it is.” She opened the box and helped herself to its contents in the old china teacups, forgoing the teapot as she simply poured the hot water into the cups directly.

“Sorry for the lack of seating. I have yet to price a table. Or chairs. Or… well… anything.” She shrugged, holding the cup and saucer out to the stranger as she leaned against the counter. He hesitated for a brief second before striding closer, his footsteps rather quiet on the old wood floors as he carefully took the offered tea from her and slowly settled against the counter beside her, swirling the liquid with gentle precision.

Valhalla, meanwhile, simply lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip before it had time to even seep. The man peered at her from under his hat with a critical eye.

“Uncultured,” he murmured, and she choked on the hot liquid, coughing out a laugh as she had to set it down on the counter.

“Been called worse,” she replied with a grin and a shrug, knowing that the man meant no harm in his words, unlike many others she had heard before she came to the Valley. “I am Valhalla, by the way.”

The man paused in his swirling, both eyes lifting to look at Valhalla. It was as if he was staring straight through her soul; the prickling sensation making the back of her neck itch, and it wasn’t from the sweat or water.

“Redcap.”

“That… cannot be your name,” Valhalla stated slowly, confirmed by the quirk of his lips as he turned his eyes back to his tea-swirling. “You are more like a Purplecap.”

The man remained quiet, however, and Valhalla had the feeling she wouldn’t get a direct answer from him unless she gave in to the silent prod at her own name- or lack thereof. She sighed, picking up her teacup as she stared at its darkening contents, internally debating with herself.

Curiosity won out in the end as she finished the cup in a single gulp.

“Jahangir.”

The only sound that followed was the soft click of china as she set her empty cup back in its saucer, eyes trained somewhere near the floor.

“Rasmodius.”

Valhalla lifted her head, a smile inching up into the corners of her lips.

“Nice to meet you, Rasmodius.”

There was faint impression of a smile in return, although it was easily missed as the man decided his tea had sat long enough and lifted the drink to his lips.

“So… any reason why you were watching a topless woman?”

That caused the man to choke, Valhalla’s smile turning vindictive as she laughed, clapping him on the back.

“You are hardly topless,” he croaked, eyes flickering down to the sweaty, worn sports bra she had on, the color indistinguishable from the amount of grime on it before realizing the unconscious gesture and pulled his gaze back up.

“Shirtless, then,” she amended, her grin lopsided. “Still watching me.”

“You were singing at my tower.”

The words brought Valhalla to pause, her smile fading as they sank in.

“I… oh… I’m sorry for disturbing you. Just… wanted to get out of the rain.”

There was a sigh from Rasmodius, the gentle clink of china as he set his tea down on the counter. Yet after that they were quiet, simply leaning against the counter in a silence that was almost comfortable, an unvocalized understanding that eased Valhalla’s worry of having disturbed his peace and quiet.

“There is a spare key in the hanging pot beside the door, if you ever find yourself in the rain again.”

Valhalla jerked her eyes up, but Rasmodius had his head tilted down, a hand pulling the brim of his hat to further shadow his face. 

He was _awkwardly adorable._ It reminded her so much of Virgil that she felt a grin creep up on her face again, giving the man a gentle punch on the shoulder, causing him to let go of his hat.

“I never lock my door. Just don’t tromp on my plants and we are well. Although, fair warning, clothes may be an optional feature.”

“I-“ Rasmodius lost all form of words, struggling to grasp upon even the fundamentals of speech. Valhalla dropped her head back to where it thumped loudly against a cupboard door, laughing as she raised a hand to cover her face.

“You are so _cute_!” she wheezed, turning her head to grin as she gave the man a pat on the cheek, his beard bristly under her fingers even as he pulled his head away, disgruntlement written all over his face.

“I am a Wizard. We are meant to be feared and respected, not be called “cute”.”

“A… Wizhard?” The word was foreign on Valhalla tongue, her hand dropping to give the man’s face some peace.

“Magic-user. Delver of the Arcane Arts, etcetera, etcetera.” He waved his hand blithely as he spoke. “The real reason I was on your land was because the Elementals were speaking of your presence, and just happened to stumble upon your work.”

Valhalla frowned, her brows furrowed as Rasmodius explained. She wasn’t sure what “Elementals” meant in this context, but she knew the word “magic”. She eyed him up and down, fixating her gaze on the strange symbol on his hat. It seemed oddly familiar, much like something she had seen in one of Virgil’s books, or in the ancient ruins of her homeland.

“Oh… that is why you feel strange.”

As soon as she said that, the prickling sensation increased tenfold, causing her to full-body shiver. Rasmodius was watching her, eyes slightly wider than before as he observed her in a new light.

She reached out and gently pushed his cheek with her fingers, forcing his head to turn away from her.

“Stop that- it’s pokey!”

The sensation faded immediately, barely noticeable now as the man beside her inhaled sharply before exhaling it in a slow breath.

“That is… interesting,” he said, attempting to maintain a calm demeanor but his inflection was carrying excitement, his eyes alight with glee. “You can feel the ever-flowing t- the magic,” he amended, shortening whatever tangent he wanted to go on into a single word. “Few can do so in recent times, and you also practice some of the Old Ways… You are a very interesting specimen, Jahangir.”

“…Thank you?”

Valhalla watch the man as he chuckled lowly, pushing away from the counter.

“You have given me much to think about,” he began, his tone dropping back down to the mysterious seriousness. “Thank you for the tea. We will meet again, Jahangir.”

And with a tip of his hat, the man disappeared with a blink of her eye and the surge of the sensation of someone running their fingernail just a feather’s touch up her spine, causing her to shiver.

“Weird,” she told the empty air, before shrugging and turning to wash out the cups. Weird, but nice, or so Valhalla liked to think. Magic was a concept that wasn’t exactly foreign to her, but seeing it up close and so far away from home was… startling. The man certainly had some rough, natural flair, that was for sure.

Her eyes turned to the pile of cloth and rock on her counter before lifting an arm and sniffing, wrinkling her nose at the sweaty smell.

“I need a shower.”

Ten minutes later after stacking the mineral and crystals onto the kitchen windowsill, Valhalla found herself in the shower, wringing her clothes out before hanging them up over the curtain rod. She was glad she bought some soap from Pierre’s, the homemade bars coming from… someone somewhere, but they smelled nice and that was all that mattered to Valhalla as she scrubbed away at the dirt and filth she had collected throughout the morning.

Sufficiently cleaner, Valhalla decided to take it easy for the rest of the day, humming as she took her damp clothes out to dry on the porch railing, the new shirt slightly too tight around the shoulders but nothing she could do about it. It was when she was about to turn back into the house to get a work on some well-deserved cleaning when she noticed the small flag on her mailbox signaling that she had mail.

Valhalla wasn’t used to checking it often, sighing at the sight of it as she reluctantly made her way over it. There was only one letter, she noted with some gratitude as she flipped the flag down. On it was the illegible letterings of the common language of Ferngill, but right underneath of it was a familiar pattern of script in Kloian, which simply read “ _open”._

It was… a letter from Gunther. The letter was brief, and while the lettering was carefully etched in beautiful calligraphy, the grammar was _atrocious._

“Adorable,” she whispered with a crooked grin, running her fingers over the familiar alphabet regardless of how horribly strung-together the words were. The familiar letters made her nostalgic, her smile growing soft with the memories as she read over the short note.

It merely requested her presence at the library, but as to why, it didn’t say. It made her nervous a little- the last time she went into the place she almost decked Gunther and caused a scene in front of Lewis, of whom she had been avoiding since.

She couldn’t run forever, Valhalla sighed, carefully folding the paper and slipping it back into its envelope. Hiding from the consequences will only make it worse, even if the time and space apart would help clear heads and think more clearly.

The cleaning of the house would have to wait, Valhalla decided as she walked back up the steps to inside the house, setting the letter onto the kitchen counter. Her eyes caught the light reflecting off some of the crystals and she paused, turning her gaze to the windowsill.

Perhaps… if things turned out okay, she could have a chance to ask about her collection of minerals. Gunther seemed like the sort of man who would know, between being both a librarian and a museum curator. Even if he personally couldn’t, he could at least point out books- books of which she couldn’t read a lick of, but at least she could reference back to them once she did learn a little more.

But the question was, how was she going to carry all these the five miles to town?

“I’m an idiot,” she said suddenly to the ceiling, turning on her heel as she bounded up the stairs two at a time. She rummaged through the closet, pulling out the old backpack that had come with her all the way across the Republic.

And as soon as she came barreling down the steps and dumped the crystals as carefully as she could into her pack, Valhalla tromped out the door, ready to use the miles between herself and town to mentally and emotionally prepare herself for whatever outcome this meeting would hold

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just.. really love the random banter that had occurred between Valhalla and Rasmodius. It wasn't supposed to happen quite like that but it did and I love it. Val has very little shame.
> 
> Also, Val with tattoos and scars confirmed. Didn't know if you wanted to know but now you do. c:


	10. Back to the Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla returns to the library to face Gunther for the first time after the incident. Penny and the children also contribute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! Chapter 10 and counting! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The front desk was empty when Valhalla stepped into the library, her feet oddly muted by the walls of shelves around her. She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she awkwardly hovered by the desk, uncertain if she should go look for Gunther between the shelving or simply wait.

There was a loud, childish giggle from behind the bookshelves, followed by an even louder hushing and the soft murmur of a third voice. Curious, Valhalla decided to abandon her wait by the counter and slipped between the shelves.

In the center of the room, walled by shelving, was the main seating area, with tables and desks and comfortable reading chairs. At the largest table sat the two children and the auburn-haired woman from her first trip into town, books and papers splayed out between them. Gunther was also there, kneeling down beside the salmon-haired boy, the child’s mouth curled into a smile as the curator peeled off a sticker from the boy’s cheek.

“I guess I will have to confiscate this, then,” he sighed with a dramatic inflection.

“But that’s my sticker! Miss Penny gave it to me!” the boy’s smile dropped, eyes wide and watery as he turned it to the young woman. “Miss Penny, Professor Gunther stole my sticker!”

“Then I suppose you must behave and do your math in order to get it back, Vincent,” the woman smiled, not even looking up from the book the girl was reading out loud. “If you finish all your problems, perhaps Professor Gunther will be kind enough to give you a candy as well as your sticker back.”

“Do I get a piece of candy too, Professor Gunther?” The young girl’s wide, doe-like eyes joined Vincent’s at staring up at the curator, using their youthful charm that only children could do.

“I will consider it,” the man replied, rising to his feet and brushing the imaginary dust off his knees. “And- if you both get A’s, I will give you both two pieces.”

The children cheered, before they both covered their mouths at remembering where they were, giggling behind their hands as they delved back into their work with twice the effort.

Gunther turned, pausing as he lifted his head and noticed Valhalla standing there, leaning against the nearest bookcase as she watched the scene with a soft smile. The sunlight from the large window glinted off his blue-tinted lenses on his nose as he seemed to take a moment to process that there was another person in the library before a faint smile of his own crept into the corners of his mouth.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming today,” he murmured, his voice hushed as to not disturb the children.

“Almost didn’t,” Valhalla replied just as quietly, giving him a shrug. “I… have a bad time with the mail.”

The man turned his head to her, giving the impression that he _knew_. Valhalla’s eyes slid away from his blue glasses, swallowing as she ran her hand down the strap of the bag on her shoulder in growing anxiety.

“I am sorry,” she said suddenly, her gaze drifting away to the woodgrain of the shelf beside her and finding it utterly fascinating to look at. “I hadn’t meant to- I hadn’t-“

Her words were cut off by a gloved hand on her forearm, pulling her from her stumbling as her accent thickened, blinking at Gunther who kept his hand on her arm even after he drew her attention back to him.

“If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. It should be expected that some things are…different, for you.” He picked his words carefully his tone gentle. “Startling one who had lived in such a disastrous place for so long… but we have been driven into ignorant bliss by the peace we live in here, untouched by the war half a world away.”

His hand slid away, leaving the warm impression in its wake as he continued.

“I have… spoken to Mayor Holt. He knows to keep this discrete, outside of the rancher who lives closest to you in case of emergencies.” A smile tugged at his lips as he spoke. “Then again, Mayor Holt can’t keep anything a secret from Miss Marnie.”

“Oh?” Valhalla couldn’t help but pick up onto his tone and cling to it, raising an eyebrow in curiosity even as her own mouth curled upward. “Are they… close?”

“You heard not a word from me,” he murmured, bringing a finger to his lips even as his smile shifted into a near grin. “But there are… rumors.”

“Sounds, hmmm…” Valhalla’s brows scrunched together as she tried to think of the correct word for what she wanted to express. “Delight?”

“Delightful.”

“Yes! Delightful.”

A chuckle escaped from Gunther, shaking his head as Valhalla beamed. It was… pleasant how he didn’t seem to harbor any hard feelings for her nearly taking his face out with her fist. And she was thankful for him to intercede on her behalf with Lewis, who didn’t immediately spread the news of her position with the rest of the community.

They would learn in time, but she didn’t want them treating her like broken glass or a dangerous beast.

“I forgot! I have something for you!” Valhalla let the backpack slip from her shoulder, holding onto the strap as she unzipped the bag with one hand. She pulled the opening wider, the zipper protesting slightly but giving way to expose the slight glint of crystal in the afternoon light.

She couldn’t see his expression as his face dropped, the brim of his hat shadowing his face, but the quiet gasp that left him was promising, gloved fingers hesitating before reaching inside to pick up one the clusters of geometric spires.

“These are… exquisite samples…” he breathed, his tone filled with awe as his gloved fingers brushed away some of the dirt that still clung to the mineral in his hand. “Where on earth did you even get these?”

“Dug them up. You can have them, if you want.”

She hadn’t meant to offer, but seeing the man’s face light up upon seeing the crystals, well, she couldn’t help herself. They would only collect dust on her windowsill anyway, and the library supposedly had a museum attached to it that was recently cleared out by the previous curator. Perhaps a few pretty rocks would help?

“I can-“ The man actually spluttered a little at the offer, his head jerking up so that his face was turned up to her, the blue lenses on his nose distracting her from his eyes. “I’d love to have them! Valhalla! This can be the fresh start that the museum collection desperately needs! I could kiss you!”

“What’s stopping you?” The words came out of Valhalla’s mouth before she even thought about them, the man before her freezing and the outline of his eyes widening just as two synchronized “ _Eww_!”s brought them back to the fact that they were standing in the middle of a library with an audience.

“How is that “ew”?” Valhalla turned her eyes to the two children who were staring at them, Vincent turned completely around so that his knees were on the seat and peeking over the back as Gunther beside her ducked his head, pulling his hat lower over his face. Penny had a hand lifted to her lips, her eyes twinkling with mirth as the lesson she had been teaching had seemingly been abandoned in favor of watching the debacle before them.

“Kissing is gross!” Vincent stuck his tongue out, pulling a face.

“Uncle Shane says that kissing is only for adults!” the girl- Jas, Valhalla realized- retorted, wrinkling her nose. “And everyone knows adult things are boring! Like taxes!”

“Ah, yes, like taxes,” Valhalla nodded sagely. “I understand. Kissing is like taxes. Very boring. You two are very bright for your age.”

The pair beamed at her, Vincent kicking the table slightly while Jas realized she was talking to a stranger and instantly clung to Penny’s arm, half her face hidden behind the elder’s shoulder with her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“Since I have been told that kissing is a no-go- would you like to see pretty rocks instead?”

“Yes please!”

That got Vincent out of his seat in a flash, standing beside Valhalla and on his toes to peer into the bag with wide, curious eyes.

“Woah- they’re so pretty!”

Gunther, seemingly recovered from his previous state of embarrassment, cleared his throat.

“Perhaps a little science lesson is in order,” he stated, herding the child back to his seat. “If Miss Penny is agreeable to the sudden change in daily curriculum, of course.”

“I do not mind,” Penny smiled gently. “The children were getting restless anyway, and it would be good to cover something interesting to wrap up the day with.”

Valhalla felt a small hand take her own that wasn’t clutching to the bag, Vincent’s eager face bright as he tugged on her hand.

“Come on!”

And so Valhalla found herself at the library table, sitting beside Vincent and his happily kicking feet and across from Penny and Jas, who had slowly poked her head out from Penny’s shoulder as Gunther took control over the bag of minerals. Her knees were wedged under the table, the chairs a little too tall and the table just a little too short, forcing her to be careful not to jostle the table in any way.

The children oo’d and aww’d with every piece taken out, Gunther’s white gloves being stained a greyish brown from the fresh earth still embedded on the samples. He didn’t seem to care, his voice and actions excited as he spoke of every crystal and mineral with enthusiastic knowledge. There was jasper and kyanite and several different variations of quartz, a tiger’s eye and a hawk’s eye that he passed around to the children to look at the colorful formations, a huge cluster of pyrite that Vincent got into an argument with Jas about it being gold or not- “But Professor Gunther said it’s Fool’s Gold!” Jas exclaimed in exasperation, even while Vincent fervently stuck to his own opinion on the matter.

It was all very fascinating. Gunther knew most of the minerals upon sight, although some he wasn’t too sure off due to their similarities to other minerals. Still, he was very enthusiastic about the whole lesson, brushing up to crystal structures and formations while not getting too heavy and boring the children or confusing Valhalla. He was very knowledgeable on the subject, and Valhalla couldn’t help but sit and watch with utter fascination.

They had just finished ogling over the massive slab of jade when Penny looked at her watch and let out a quiet gasp of surprise.

“Goodness! We went over time! Come on, children, let’s get packed up.”

“Awww!”

As reluctant as the children might be, they still diligently gathered up their papers and stuffed them into their backpacks, their lightweight jackets zipped up and smoothed out even though Vincent was reluctant to put his on- “But it’s nice outside, Miss Penny!”

By the time they had gotten their things in order, Valhalla had set the last of her collection onto the table and her own bag over her shoulder again, considerably lighter than before.  

“Goodbye Professor Gunther! Miss Stranger!” Vincent waved as Penny took one of the children’s hands and led them down the road, Jas giving a much softer “Goodbye” and shy wave. Valhalla waved back, chuckling quietly as she stood in the doorway.

“They are cute,” she said, watching the trio go, Gunther humming beside her.

“You know,” he began slowly. “Miss Penny is an excellent teacher. She would not judge you for asking for help.”

Valhalla’s head swiveled to stare at Gunther, but his face was still turned ahead, watching the others leave. She blinked at him, her brows furrowing as she looked back at the two children and lone adult as they began to cross the bridge. Did Gunther know…?

Still, it couldn’t help to hurt. Penny seemed very nice and very knowledgeable in her own right in helping two young children learn their letters and numbers. Helping an adult didn’t seem too much of a stretch... and the thought of all those letters and missing something important caused instant guilt to well up inside her chest.

“Miss Penny!” Valhalla called after her, jogging to catch up as the young woman paused to wait for her, the two children staring up at her. “Let me help you walk them home.”

“Oh! You don’t need to do that!” Penny smiled, slightly flustered.

“I am heading that way anyway,” she replied with a hopefully disarming smile. “Walking with company is better than walking alone.”

“But Miss Penny’s not alone! She’s got us!” Vincent puffed his cheeks out, clinging to Penny’s hand.

“Of course! I was simply trying to say that one more will be extra better!”

“Oh!”

Valhalla couldn’t help but laugh as Vincent grinned, eagerly snatching her hand with his free one and giving no time for Penny to refute her offer.

“I suppose company will be nice,” the young woman said softly, and Valhalla beamed at her, letting Vincent tug her along as they finished crossing the bridge, none of them noticing how Gunther watched them until they got to the other side of the bridge before disappearing back into the library.

As soon as they were out of sight of the library, Vincent became a chatterbox.

“Is your house haunted? Did you fight any monsters on the farm? Mom says couldn’t go there because it’s dangerous, but I could take on any monsters!”

“No, the house isn’t haunted,” Valhalla laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she grinned. “And your mother is a smart woman. The monsters on the land favor the tenderer meat of children.”

“Can you fight the monster on the ranch?” Jas whispered shyly, pressed against Penny’s side as she peered up at Valhalla. “It’s been hurting Aunt Marnie’s cows.”

Valhalla hadn’t heard of anything attacking Marnie’s cows, or anything else for that matter. Perhaps it was something that Marnie was keeping to herself, not to worry anyone else, since she hadn’t mentioned anything to her in their previous encounters, and Lewis hadn’t said anything either. Although, it could be recent- most likely it was written in one of the many letters stuffed in the kitchen drawer of same. It was something to look into.

“This is the first time I heard of monsters at the ranch,” Valhalla smiled gently at the shy girl. “But I will see what I can do.”

The conversation came to a pause when Penny stopped at the last house on the block before the cobblestone road turned into gravel leading out of town. Vincent beamed as he slipped his hands from both the women’s grips as he bounded up the steps to the front door.

“Bye Miss Penny! Bye Miss Stranger! Bye Jas!” he waved, grinning from ear to ear before letting himself into the house.

“See you tomorrow, Vincent,” Penny waved back. “Please do your homework!”

“He won’t do his homework,” Jas commented as soon as they began walking again. “He’ll be out all evening looking for bugs again.”

“That’s not nice, Jas,” Penny reprimanded gently. “I’m sure his mother or Sam will help him remember to do it.”

 _Sam_ , Valhalla noted with a sudden realization. That was Jodi’s son, both of whom had problems with her. She had suspected that Vincent had been related to Jodi- their hair was similar if not for the several shades of difference and their eyes were the same. She was surprised that Vincent had no fear of her while the other two of his family did, but perhaps it was because he was still very young, not worrying over the struggles of reality that the elder family members knew.

She just hoped that he kept that youthful innocence for as long as he could.

The journey down to Marnie’s ranch was relatively quiet. Both Jas and Penny fell into a comfortable silence, and Valhalla wasn’t keen on breaking it, walking along beside them with a slow gait as to not outmatch them in her much wider strides. The cows in the pastures ambled closer to the fences as they passed, Jas smiling and waving at them as the cattle followed them home.

“Hello Penny! Jas” Marnie smiled, setting the pitchfork into the hay as she wiped the sweat from brow. “Oh! And hello there, Valhalla!”

“Hello Marnie!”

“Miss Farmer is going to help us with our monster problem,” Jas said, attaching herself to Marnie’s side.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself over, Valhalla,” Marnie smiled. “But thank you for the offer. It’s most likely just a stray dog. Shane and I got our eyes peeled just in case we spot it.”

“Ah, well… if you need any help… I’m just up the way.”

Marnie smiled but still declined the offer, ushering Jas inside for an early dinner and leaving the remaining pair to their own devices after they both declined the offering of dinner on Marnie’s behalf.

“Well, I suppose I will be on my way,” Penny murmured, brushing her hands over her long skirt. “Thank you for walking me this far, Miss Valhalla, but I must get back to town.”

“Wait.”

Valhalla froze as Penny turned her eyes to her, growing nervous as she tried to string together a coherent sentence.

“Can you teach me letters?” she ended up blurting out, causing Penny to look baffled for a second.

“Pardon?”

“Can… can you teach me… to read?” Valhalla managed to say much slower, twisting the strap of her bag. “It’s just… Gunther said you can help, and I don’t read well as I talk. Actually, I know nothing as to how to read this… Ferngillian or whatever it is. And I keep getting things in the mail and I get frustrated and guilty because I can’t understand a word of it, and I don’t even know what seeds I’m planting because I can only look at the pictures and I barely know what they are if it isn’t a fruit and I- I can pay you! Sometime, when I get more money, but I can! I promise!”

Penny stared at her for a long moment before she reached out and gently took Valhalla’s hand, sympathetic understanding written all over her face.

“Of course I can teach you,” she stated. “No wonder no one has been getting any responses from you in the mail- you can’t read what they’re sending! Some of the townsfolk were getting a little worried over you, disappearing for days at a time.”

“Please don’t tell them,” Valhalla murmured, holding Penny’s hand with both her own. “I… just tell them I have problems with the wind or the squirrels into my mailbox, or something. Just… tell me things directly? And how much do I pay you?”

“We can figure that out in due time,” Penny’s smile was warm and gentle, just like her personality under her initial shyness. “Perhaps even a fresh cauliflower to start?”

Valhalla’s face broke out into a wide grin. “I can do that! A vegetable for every day you help me!”

Penny had to stifle a laugh at her excitement, covering her mouth with a hand to hide her smile. “How about 3-5 anytime during the week whenever you have the time? I am usually having the children do worksheets or reading when it nears the end of the day, so it will be quiet enough for me to help you. Besides, that gives Professor Gunther time to spoil them with candy if they behave. I swear, that man-“

Penny shook her head in pretend dismay, the smile on her lips ruining the effect.  “Well, I should get back before it gets dark. Goodnight, Miss Valhalla.”

“Valhalla is fine. Safe travels, Miss Penny”

Penny smiled, nodding softly before she followed the gravel path back towards town. Valhalla watched her go behind a slope before she turned to go into the other direction, getting off the well-beaten path and up the steep slopes and foot bridges to the farmhouse with a skip in her step.

She was going to learn how to read!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love writing Gunther and the children. Their dynamics with Valhalla gives me life. Valhalla embarrassing people is her #1 Skill Set, I swear.
> 
> Some other plotting going on in the background. Don't mind those, I'm sure they won't be too important.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Dog Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of unfortunate events dominoes into a breakdown. The Junimos are determined to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @kaigoe: >:3c  
> @primordialclamchowder: Thank you for reading and commenting! I hope you continue enjoying!
> 
> Other Notes: We finally get to briefly meet Alex and George, and sort-of meet the Junimos! 
> 
> WARNINGS: Mentions of animal death, some discrimination, some self-degradation and the terrors of war, a lot of verbal shouting, and Shane's drinking problems. This chapter's a fucking disaster. I am sorry.

 Something had tromped through her plants.

Valhalla frowned as she knelt down by her plot of green sprouts, observing the damage. She was lucky that only two or three plants had fell victim to uncaring feet, but there was a very noticeable trail made in the soft, tilled earth.

She splayed out her fingers, placing it just over the footprint left in the soil. The print underneath was just a little bigger than her own hand- the claws on the obvious shape of paws meant that it was most likely some sort of dog.

A really, really _big_ dog.

Still, it was the first time she had seen tracks of any kind outside of some birds or deer down by the stream. It was fortunate that neither had tried to come up and eat her crops, but she was working on wrangling up an agreement with Robin to build fences around the plots to help prevent any in the future. A hundred G’s didn’t seem enough, but Robin had demanded it that it was the actual price. Still, Valhalla was planning on making something for her in return. Would she enjoy some traditional Kloian stew?

With that thought in mind, Valhalla made a mental count of how much change she had left on her and rose to her feet, brushing the dirt off her knees. She could figure out some sort of equivalent for some of the spices and food items if she couldn’t find them at Pierre’s, she reason, heading to water her crops- giving the crushed plants a little extra water and some hopefully uplifting words to speed their recovery.

She heard that talking to plants helped them grow from somewhere, but, just like what she first thought of using the offering plate to the local spirits, any bit helped regardless of the truth in them or not. Besides, talking niceties to the bright green leaves of cauliflower or the tendrils creeping up the bean trellises put her in a good mindset.

Robin would be down later in the afternoon or sometime tomorrow morning after she finished up a project in West Livingston to work on her fence and was already welcome to select out a few trees to cut down for lumber. That gave her at least all morning to go to Pierre’s, buy some missing ingredients, and make her stew. It would leave her in a bit of a money bind, but Valhalla survived on less, and she was sure that the stew would freeze very well if necessary. Leftovers were going to be her favorite thing until she got some crops in.

Her trip to town was side-tracked as soon as she stepped onto the square. The cobblestone was congested with people, even Pierre standing outside of his shop as audible shouting echoed from somewhere just off the square.

“I’m telling you! Dusty had nothing to do with this!”

A young man in a sports jacket stood by a fenced in area just outside of a house a little ways from the saloon. His face was flushed, his hands shaking a little at his sides, but Shane’s face was red with fury, his teeth bared in a feral snarl while Marnie had a hand on his arm, possibly the only physical restraint in the man from completely losing it and lunging forward. There was an old man in a wheelchair as well, gristle and angry, his thin wrinkled lips creased into its own look of fury as Evelyn fluttered her hands between the old and younger men, worry etched across her face.

“That dog of yours killed our chickens!” Shane spat, jutting a finger at the young man.

“Pshaw! That mutt’s too old!” the older fellow growled, huffing as he shifted in his seat. “All it does is sleep!”

“Dusty would never attack your chickens!” the younger protested, his back to the fence as if to be a barrier between the contents within and the obviously furious Shane. “He’s a good dog!”

“Then why are there dog prints all over the coop! Why is there a gaping hole in that fence behind you?!” Shane wasn’t letting down any, and although Marnie looked thoroughly upset, she was still trying to play peace keeper in giving Shane’s sleeve a gentle tug, which was ignored.

“It hasn’t been the first time Dusty has escaped the fence,” she said slowly, regret crossing her face as Shane let out a triumphant “ _See?_!”.

“But he just wanders around town! He’s too old to go miles down the road to attack some chickens!” the young man rebutted. “He doesn’t even chase the birds that land in his yard!”

The townsfolk just milled around watching on, some murmuring to themselves but most not doing anything. Even Lewis wasn’t getting into the middle of it, instead going to stand beside Evelyn and giving her a comforting side hug while her grandson and husband verbally duked it out with Shane.

Valhalla slipped around the crowd, being ignored for the most part as she crept towards the side of the fence. Indeed there was a massive hole in the planks, the boards rotted out and chewed out enough to make a hole for a large dog to get through. While the yard seemed empty, she could see a shadowy form hiding in the dog house, warily watching the scene happening outside.

The hole was hard to get through, but Valhalla managed to wedge herself through the board with minimal scrapes.

“ _Hey there,”_ she whispered softly to the dog, shuffling over slowly on her hands and knees as the dog whined. “ _No no, I’m not intruding. See? I’m here to be nice.”_

She splayed her hands out, palms up and empty as she made herself as small as she could to help comfort the dog. Its ears lifted a little before it made a sad snuffle.

“ _They are loud, aren’t they? Don’t worry, you’re a good dog. A very good dog.”_

She doubted it could understand her, but her tone was soft and soon the dog crept out of its house to investigate, sniffing at the ground at the entrance to its hideaway in shyness.

It was a big dog, she had to admit, holding her hands out for the dog to sniff at its own pace. But its muzzle was lined with grey, its eyes drooping and sad, and there were a few teeth missing from its mouth as it licked her empty palms with a look of pity as there being no treats.

“ _You are a very good boy,”_ Valhalla cooed gently, reaching to scratch the dog’s ears. The dog panted, its tail thumping loudly against its house.

“Shake?” she asked, holding a hand out to the creature. She wasn’t sure if the dog was trained to do such tricks, but it lifted a paw stiffly and placed it onto her outstretched hand.

“ _Good boy! You’re a very good boy, yes!”_ Its tongue rolled out of its mouth, seeming pleased with itself under the tone of platitudes. Its paws, though, only took up the palm of her hand. Not the unusual size that tromped through her garden. And they seemed relatively clean from any chicken massacres either. Didn’t smell like it either. Plus, with its age, she wouldn’t be surprised if it couldn’t move as fast as it used to. It was a very old dog, but even old dogs needed space sometimes that this small fenced-in area couldn’t provide.

“What the actual FUCK are you doing in there?!”

Valhalla glanced up, the dog whining and cowering back into its dog house as Shane shouted.

“Petting a good boy,” she replied, rising to her feet as the young man in the sports jacket fumbled for the gate latch. “You are making him nervous.”

“Nervous?!” Shane’s ire was firmly on her now, his eyes wild. “That fucking dog killed a bunch of our chickens!”

“He didn’t!” the young man blurted out, finally getting the gate unlatched and ushering Valhalla through, closing it quickly behind her as soon as she stepped.

“I told you, that dog’s too old to do diddly squat,” the old man growled.

“A dog ran through my crops during the night,” Valhalla broke through the argument before they could begin again.

“I told you-!”

“The paws are wrong.”  
That caused the three arguing men to stop and stare at her as if she had grown a second head.

“His paws,” Valhalla nodded her head towards the doghouse. “Are too small. And he is old. He escapes because he is bored, but he’s a good boy.”

“Like you know _shit_!” Shane exploded with rage, ripping his arm from Marnie’s grip as he stormed towards the much taller woman. “Why don’t you go back to your own fucking country, you damned Empire-loving _freak_!”

His breath smelled like alcohol, Valhalla noticed as he was up in her face, or as close to her face as he could get, being at least a head and a half shorter than her or so. It wasn’t even afternoon yet, but he had already hit the bottle- either due to the stress of the early morning discovery in the chicken coop or not. Still, his words cut deep, her fingers curling into fists and loosening again in a repeated gesture to keep herself calm.

“You are a very, very sad man,” she told him with sincerity, her face as rigid and smooth as stone. “And I pity you.”

And with that she walked away, bumping her way through the parting crowd. She couldn’t bring herself to look at them, praying that no one noticed her legs were shaking. No one tried to stop her either, thankfully enough, and as soon as she rounded the corner of a building she broke into a run, bearing off the square and up some stone steps that turn into a gravel path. She blindly followed it, feeling her hands shaking and her knees threatening to give out on her as she stumbled to an abandoned building near a playground.

The door gives under her frantic weight, swinging in enough to let her collapse onto the dusty, broken floor beyond the threshold as the door slammed shut behind her.

Valhalla brought her shaking hands to her ears, trying to muffle how panicked her breathing was. She was so _stupid_ , freaking out like this. She had lived through countless people mocking and belittling her, but for some reason, having such mild verbal abuse thrown at her here had sent her spiraling.

She was lucky she panicked instead of getting angry, she tried to reason with herself. The last thing she needed was to _actually_ punch someone. Because of what? Being called a freak? An Empire-lover?

If they only _knew_ what she had done before escaping it all. Would they still be friendly towards her? Would they chase her out of town? War wasn’t fair to anyone, especially to the good folks who simply did what they had to do in order to survive, and it _hurt_.

Valhalla didn’t know she was crying until the warm droplets began to soak into her jeans, dripping down her cheeks in salty streaks. She served _the Republic_ for goodness sake! She did so much behind enemy lines, against the oppressors who took over her homeland, slaughtered her people, and killed he own father. But no one here knew, no one cared either. They had their own soldiers to worry about, their friends and families who risked their lives to go out and assist the war effort.

They never considered the lives of the people who joined alongside them, rising from the crags of destruction to free themselves, to free their own people. The Empire was their enemy, their claws reaching out and taking what wasn’t theirs. Small countries and nations were swallowed up long before the Republic got involved. And they didn’t get involved because of the oppressed people, no.

War was never started because of that. There was always economic factors, one person getting something that the other didn’t have and they would fight over it. Perhaps to the common man the governments would spout that it was for the betterment of the people, but in reality it never was about the people.

And Valhalla had blood on her hands, the guilt of all those lives lost weighing upon her shoulders. She had to live with that knowledge, bearing it in her heart, but the people of the Republic didn’t care about her at all. They would send her back without a second thought if they realized she had to smuggle herself here because when she tried to leave through legal means, she had been laughed at. Told to go back onto the field.

She had been just a weapon to the Republic, something to save a hundred lives of their own men. What was one stray Kloian in comparison to their own lives? They knew that she hated the Empire more than themselves, and so they used that against her, played her like a mindless puppet. She hadn’t been able to say no to doing the dirtiest acts of violence against the Empire, and the Republic let her do it. Better dirty her own hands than their own.

She just wanted _peace_ , but her own actions haunted her, and being reminded of them just simply _hurt._

There was a gentle tug on her shirt from something very small. Valhalla tried to blink through the tears, but could only make out a yellow-y colored blob with tiny, beady eyes. It was about the size of an apple, and had something like hands as it tugged on her shirt again, making a sad sort of warble. Something green appeared right beside the first, emitting another odd sound that was almost _concerned_ despite it being completely incomprehensible to Valhalla.

Valhalla lifted her hands, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes as her head fell back against the door, a shaky breathing bordering on a sob escaping her throat. Great, now she had intruded on something’s home and was making a scene. She tried to apologize, but any words were garbled under a wet sob that finally broke free.

And then she couldn’t get herself to stop.

Valhalla curled in on herself, hiding her face in her hands as she cried, the emotions she spent so long trying to hide breaking their confining walls and rushing out all at once. There was _nothing_ here for her, wasn’t there? She escaped the Empire, smuggled herself into the Republic- and for what? Pretend she could forget everything that had happened before? Her entire _family_ was still back in Gotoro, fighting for their lives and freedom, and she couldn’t do anything to help being all the way out here in the middle of absolute _nowhere_.

She hadn’t had time to mourn for her father either, his death occurring just before Klo rebelled against the Gotoro Empire, long before Ferngill decided to intercede. She had cut her hair, picked up a weapon, and went to war, and had been for the past five years. She hadn’t seen any one of her family except her mother in that time, but even though her mother told her to leave, Valhalla didn’t feel that there had been anything left to save of her now at that very moment.

She almost punched a man. She caused a scene with another. She couldn’t even _read_ for goodness sake! She just bumbled around like an idiot trying to make friends with people because…

Because she was her father’s daughter. Soft, bleeding, compassionate heart.

But she was also her mother’s daughter; strong, fierce, an unforgiving, unrelenting wall.

Together, it reduced Valhalla to someone who kept trying and trying and _trying_ , her heart aching and hurting while still trying to make everyone else happy, regardless of what exactly she was doing to attain it. Back in the war, she was helping the Republic, spilling blood onto the battle-torn earth because it saved _lives_ , and there were innocent civilians back in the Republic who wanted their loved ones to come home alive. It didn’t matter that those people were the same people who left her at the hands of the Empire for a month before she escaped. It didn’t matter that they also threw her back into the thick of things when she dragged her bleeding body back to them, information in hand. It didn’t matter when she asked for refuge they simply _laughed_ at her before telling her to get back to the fight.

They had families to go back to, and for whatever spirits or divine being above or below that was listening, she was willing to help them get them back alive.

And what about here? An old farm loaned to her by a friend, a town full of people who were looking forward to seeing it succeed. She wanted them to see it come to life once again, to bring some form of prosperity to their tiny little town. She wanted the people she met to be happy, to continue smile and laughing and she would continue to do so with her own two hands that had previously been drenched in blood.

In the end, Valhalla was simply a tired mess. That was all she was amounting to be.

Through her tears, Valhalla couldn’t hear or feel the dozens of other small creature appearing before her, gathering around her and emitting the strange, echoing peeps and warbles. She couldn’t see one disappear, fading into nothingness for several minutes before reappearing and bouncing away just as a set of boots hit the floor in a quiet flurry of fabric.

What she did notice was a warm hand placing itself onto her knee, a soft murmur of her name that she barely caught. She hiccupped, trying to get apologies to go around the lump in her throat, and only managing to croak. It made her curl in further on herself, fingernails digging into her hairline as she tried to get control back on herself and failing absolutely miserably.

Someone warm moved to sit beside her, arms reaching to pull her close. She buried her face into their chest, feeling their breath against her hair. They sat there for a while, the other letting her simply wear herself out while providing a quiet comfort. The tiny creatures beeped and bumbled over her lap and surrounded them, doing the best they could to provide their own comfort.

The minutes ticked by, but felt like an eternity before Valhalla began to wind down, exhausting herself with her tears. She scrubbed at her face with a hand, sniffling and hiccupping as she shifted her head enough to look who exactly she was making a mess on, catching a blur of a dark purple beard in the faint light that trickled in through the cracks of the building.

“Ras-?” she tried, but the rest of his name caught in her throat, causing the first half of it to sound more like “Roz” than what it should be. Still, the purple shifted a little, the arms surprisingly strong as they shifted her, slowly helping her to her feet.

“Let’s get you home,” came the gruff whisper near her ear, her legs not wanting to respond as she struggled to stay upright against the wizard as the fuzzy, wet colors around her blurred together, the tickling sensation up her spine dull in her weary senses.

She didn’t know when she got a couch, but she was more than happy to be set down on it, bringing both hands to try to clean her face. Her vision was slightly clearer now- she could make the familiar archway of the living room converting into the dining and kitchen of her own home.

Rasmodius seemed to appear out of nowhere while she was trying to clear her eyes again, pressing a warm cup into her hands that her fingers instinctively curled around. It looked like tea, but Valhalla couldn’t smell nor taste it as she lifted it to her mouth and swallowed it to feel at least something other than the horrible ache in her chest and the clogging stuffiness in her head.

“I am sorry,” she managed to whisper out, sniffling a little more as she turned the cup in her hands, staring forlornly into the rippling liquid.

“What is there to apologize for?”

The couch dipped beside her as Rasmodius settled himself in, a slight space between them to be polite but close enough to be comforting. Valhalla said nothing in response, simply staring into her tea. She could feel Rasmodius sigh, shifting closer so that their knees were touching as his hand rested on her forearm.

“Jahangir,” he began, the use of her name, her _real_ name, making her eyes drift up. Not quite meeting his gaze, but enough to see his face.

“We all need to take time to ourselves, for our emotions to flow freely. We are not like fruit that can be bottled up and left to age into fine wine. We sour and turn to vinegar. Even magic is affected if we do not express ourselves.”

“Sounds as if you speak from experience,” Valhalla murmured, a faint smile ghosting her lips in empty humor. The wizard coughed slightly, causing her smile to become more genuine.

“Yes, well, no one can live life without suffering a little,” he replied.

Valhalla didn’t ask, and Rasmodius didn’t say anything further, because there was no need to. They simply _understood,_ and no further explanation was required as they sat in comfortable silence, Valhalla’s head eventually nodding as she drifted off into an exhausted sleep without meaning to, the wizard carefully taking the cup of mostly untouched tea out from her fingers even as her head drooped to his shoulder.

And neither were bothered by the multitude of colorful, globule nature spirits that decided to join them on the couch, squeaking quietly as they settled in around them like an ectoplasmic blanket, Rasmodius merely sighing in slight exasperation that, years upon years of trying to make contact with the Junimos and receiving nothing but radio silence, even when he summoned one or two or a dozen into his home, it took a single breakdown from their favorite new friend who gave them gifts upon her doorstep for one to pop into his tower without being forced to and demanding for him to come to their home _immediately- or else_ , and now after all that was said and done, the nature spirits used him as a curious sort of jungle gym, one already dangling off the brim of his hat in front of his face.

It was simply how things turned out in life sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Shane have problems? Fucking yes. Is he a bad guy? No. He just has issues and he's angry and upset and he is currently lashing out at people he shouldn't be. He cares a lot for those chickens, and people say things they don't mean when they are overwhelmed with emotion. It will be discussed in either the next chapter or the following, but please know that I don't plan on making Shane a bad person, he just does bad things because circumstances are shit. That's just how things are sometimes. He'll get better though!
> 
> Rasmodius is a good friend when he wants to be. It only takes one spirit to cause him to drop whatever he's doing, and boy the Junimos are little shits to him I love them. 
> 
> Also: what do you describe what a Junimo sounds like? Beeps? Peeps? Squeaks? Who knows.


	12. The Monster of the Ranch, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane gets the scare of his life, things are forgiven, and Marlon makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! And thank you for the weird Junimo noises. They are adorable though regardless of what noises they make. 
> 
> ALSO A TWO-PARTER (or maybe a three-parter depending on how much word vomiting I can do). Part 2 I will try to get done before I leave on a mini-vacation for a few days at the end of this week. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Another dead animal and some blood. Also Shane's swearing because he seems like the kind of guy who would grumble and curse every other sentence. Bonus warning: this chapter was mostly written around midnight and I am too tired right now to actually reread through it so if things don't make sense, I am so, so sorry.

A loud bang caused Valhalla to go from being dead asleep to up on her feet in a frantic, jolting second, her heart lodged in her throat as she blinked rapidly, disoriented in what had happened. The couch in the living room she had been sleeping on was a dark shape in her vision, the lights off and her previous guests as gone as the sun.

Frantic pounding came from the front door, someone fumbling and failing to get the door to open.

“Oh fuck, oh FUCK! LET ME IN FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

Without taking the time to even register who was shouting, the panicked, terrified tone was enough for Valhalla to fly towards the door, wrenching it open and having someone tumble into the dark room, his hands already shoving the door shut.

“Wha-?”

An even louder thump drowned out whatever question Valhalla tried to ask, followed by furious snarling and claws scraping at the door. She immediately locked the door as something rattled the handle and clawed at the barrier between itself and the pair in the house. She could hear it huffing at the bottom of the door before something large thudded down the front steps and disappeared into the night.

The two were quiet aside from the ragged, wheezing breathing from her unexpected guest. She fumbled for a light switch along the wall, the snap and the light illuminating the entryway to reveal a very haggard Shane. His hands and knees were covered in dirt and grass stains, twigs tangled into his hoodie. A large scratch from a branch ran down his cheek, the blood oozing slightly around the already scabbing injury. His face was pale, sweat on his brow as he stared at the door with horrified eyes, chest heaving.

Valhalla knelt down, her actions slow to not startle the already terrified man.

“Can you stand?”

Shane gave a very jerky nod, but Valhalla offered a hand regardless, bearing most of the man’s weight as he staggered to his feet. She led him to the couch, Shane collapsing onto it before she went to the kitchen to get a damp cloth.

Shane didn’t look any better when she returned, his eyes unfocused. Valhalla knelt down once again before him, bringing the cloth to his injured cheek to wipe away the grime from the wound. The warm dampness startled him, his eyes snapping back into reality as he jerked away.

“You are injured,” she told him gently.

“I-I can do it myself,” he grumbled, the gruffness in his tone failing under the slight crack in his voice. Still, she relented the cloth to him, letting Shane wipe the dirt and faint trail of blood from his face, his hands shaking and face pale in contrast to the redness he was rubbing to his cheek.

Valhalla let him be, getting off her knees to simply sit on the couch beside the rattled man. Her ears twitched a little as she listened for any other signs that whatever creature that had chased Shane through the farm was still there, but she couldn’t pick out anything unordinary, as the crickets drowned out any other sound. If the crickets were being noisy, then she reasoned that whatever was outside was gone from the immediate area of the house. A million questions went through her mind, but Valhalla remained quiet, giving Shane time to calm down.

 “Hey, uh, I’m sorry, about this morning.”

Valhalla turned her head to peer over at Shane. His shoulders were slumped, holding the cloth to his face as he continued to stare at the floor.

“I- look, I was a complete asshole,” Shane sighed, dropping the cloth to his lap with a wet slap. “I _am_ an asshole. I just, completely fucking lost it this morning, and Jas saw it when she went to give the chickens some food before she went to school and I didn’t get much sleep last night and-“

He let out a groan, ruffling his hair with a hand, smearing earth into the dark strands. “Jas shouldn’t have seen that. Marnie shouldn’t have seen that. I _like_ those chickens, man, and they just fucking-“

He snapped his fingers, the sound eerie in the quiet home before he slumped back against the couch cushions.

“I am too sober for this,” he muttered to the ceiling. “Even if I was drunk, that fucking _thing_ out there would’ve scared me to being sober in a second. God, I’m gonna have to apologize to Alex and the Mullners too now. Marnie’ll be over the fucking moon.”

Valhalla let Shane rant on his own, quietly listening as he groaned into his hands. She wanted to ask what sort of creature had been chasing after him, and why he was on the farm at night in the first place, but she decided these things didn’t matter at the moment as she gently placed a hand onto his knee.

“We all say things we do not mean to,” she told him, picking her words carefully as she tried to convey her thoughts to him. “You were upset.”

“Yeah, well, I had everyone in town scold me,” Shane grumbled, scuffing the floor with his foot. “Especially when I yelled at you. Thought Lewis was going to throw me into the river to cool my head.”

Valhalla wasn’t sure of the context Shane was referring to by cooling his head, but she didn’t try to think too much on it.

 “I am not angry with you.” That caused Shane to lift his head to look at her, and she gave him a small smile, squeezing his knee in comfort. “I have had worse things done to me. I had stuck my nose where it hadn’t been wanted.”

“Probably a good thing you did. Things could’ve been way worse.”

He didn’t go into detail, and Valhalla didn’t ask, instead simply observing him. Shane looked completely dejected, torn down and _tired_. It was as if the whole ocean rose against him and pulled him under, and he was still trying to figure out how to swim to the surface.

“I must apologize as well,” Valhalla murmured. “You are a very, very sad man. But I do not pity you.”

A low snort escaped from Shane, but Valhalla merely brushed it aside as she continued.

“No, I can understand your sorrow. It is… deep rooted. An old, aching pain that never goes away. I do not know what it is, but I can see it. Right here.” She lifted her hand from his knee, gently tapping his face just beside his eye.

“You don’t know anything,” Shane growled, jerking his head away from her touch, a bit of heat in his words.

“Perhaps not of you, but I have seen and done many things that hurt. I lived the last five years through war and blood. Gotoro took much away from me, my family torn apart and left adrift. To suffer in silence will kill your heart before it kills you. I know this, because my mother saw it in me and told me to leave before I rotted out.”

“…You mom sounds like a smart woman…”

“She is.”

They fell silent again after that, the previous anger Shane had gone, replaced once again with his world-weary self. Valhalla threaded her fingers together as she leaned back against the couch.

“Why were you walking in the dark?”

Another snort left Shane as he picked the wet cloth off his lap, wiping his dirty hands on it to distract him.

“Marnie wouldn’t let me in the house until I apologized. Stuffed a casserole or something in my hands too, but I kinda lost it running for my life. Ain’t particular to losing it sober _and_ by some giant ass wolf.”

“A wolf?” Valhalla’s brow furrowed, her tone bordering skeptical. She supposed wolves could live out here in the country, but she couldn’t recall anyone telling her there was any, and Marnie would’ve suspected them sooner instead of a stray dog if one had been harassing her cows and, more recently, killing her chickens.

“I don’t even know. Big, whatever the fuck it was. Yoba, I’m not going back out there.”

“You can stay here, if you’d like.” That caused Shane to pause, looking up at Valhalla once again, who simply shrugged. “I got a couch now, and I don’t want you going back out there either. You can sleep here until morning.” She looked him over once again before looking towards the stairs.

“There’s a bathroom just at the top of the stairs. You can clean up. I… might have clothes for you?”

“Don’t bother. I think I’d trip on how much leg you got on me.”

Shane rose to his feet, before muttering a curse, his hands going to his pockets as he rifled through them as a strange buzzing sound emitted from his pants' pockets. He pulled out an old, cracked cell phone, tapping at the screen before putting it to his ear.

“Yeah?”

Valhalla decided to leave him be to his discussion, heading up the stairs to scrounge up at least a clean shirt that wasn’t covered in dirt and grime. Her head was in the closet when a slow pattering of shoes on the staircase made her pull herself out and stick her head out the door, catching Shane just as he appeared at the top of the stair, who froze, his face paling several shades before letting out a shaky breath.

“What the hell, your eyes scared the shit out of me.”

Valhalla blinked, before realizing that the light must’ve caught her eyes the right way in the shadowy hallway and smiled apologetically.

“Sorry. They do that. Glow, in a way. I got you a shirt.” She held it up for him, the fabric unraveling to reveal the logo for some sports team she didn’t know, quite pleased with herself in finding it.

“The Central City Cobblers,” Shane read, a faint hint of a smile almost being missed entirely in the shadows. “Didn’t know you were a sports fan.”

“Virgil gave it to me. Or, well, it doesn’t fit very good on me, but I’m sure it’ll fit you fine.” The thing looked like it would go down to Shane’s knees, but he huffed out a breath that could’ve been a chuckle before he took the shirt from her.

“You’re too damned nice,” he grumbled, although despite the growling and gruffness, there wasn’t any true ire in his tone as he shuffled off to the bathroom.

Valhalla took the time to take whatever blankets she had off her bed and moved them downstairs to the couch. She had slept for most of the day and who knew what time it actually was now. Still, she wasn’t feeling tired, and didn’t have problems to giving Shane all she had left to use to sleep on. This also gave her the time to examine the couch, the faux leather cushions worn but comfortable.

Idly, she wondered where in the world it had come from, but she didn’t question it as she laid out the folded blankets onto the seat. Whoever or whatever had given it to her didn’t leave a note, but she was thankful nevertheless. She didn’t even ache like she did when sleeping in her own bed, practically sinking into the cushions when she had sat on it. Perhaps she’ll just sleep on the couch instead of the uncomfortable, tiny mattress upstairs from now on.

Valhalla had been in the kitchen, making herself something light to eat when the shuffling feet on the stairs announced Shane’s return.

“Marnie’s going to call Marlon to come over in the morning.”

“Marlon?” Valhalla took the pan off the stove, simply stabbing some of the roasted mushrooms from the bottom directly with a fork and shoving one into her mouth.

“Some guy who lives up in the mountains. Kinda the local monster expert or something.” From the dismissing hand wave, Shane didn’t hold much confidence in this man, or his job. “You, uh, got any beer?”

“Just water and tea.”

“Shoulda figured.” Shane let out a full body sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets, hitching the long borrowed shirt up in order to do so. His jacket and previous shirt were already hanging on the arm of the couch. “Well… uh… think I’m gonna hit the hay. It’s already two-thirty.”

Valhalla swallowed her mouthful of mushroom, her brows furrowing “But… I don’t have hay to hit? Why would you hit hay?”

Shane stared at her for several seconds before mumbling something about how it wasn’t worth it and turned around towards the couch, leaving Valhalla in a state of confusion. Still, she finished her pan of fried mushrooms as quietly as she could and turned off the lights and creeping up the stairs to give Shane some peace.

There wasn’t much Valhalla could do, however, other than go back to sleep. Shane was quiet downstairs, either trying to sleep or already asleep, and she couldn’t go outside, not with an unknown creature out there. She wasn’t afraid of it, no, but it was best to know what it was first instead of blindly walking out into the dark.

Valhalla awoke cramped on her bed after counting the stars from the window, the skyline hinting at color. With a groan she rolled off the mattress, joints cracking as she quietly crept back down the stairs.

Shane was snoring on the couch, his phone resting on the floor where it had fallen from his hand that hung over the edge. He must’ve stayed awake for some time after she went upstairs. She left him be and made her way outside.

The front door had long scratches down it, the wood gouged under large, angry claws. The yard was littered with familiar, large paw prints, prowling around the house and back into the trees. Miraculously, it had avoided setting foot into her garden plot, which was a huge relief.

The half-eaten deer carcass that was at the bottom of the porch step was new, though.

Valhalla let out a long sigh just as the crunching of gravel under tires caught her ears. Lewis’ familiar truck rolled through the gate onto the farm, grinding to a halt just before the mailbox. Lewis stepped out from the driver’s side while a grizzly-looking man with an eyepatch and a side-shoulder cape came out of the passenger side, carrying a sword in a scabbard in his hands.

“Oh _goodness_ -“ Lewis gasped out as he caught sight of the carnage of the deer on the step, reaching up to take his hat off in shock. “Are you all right?”

“My crops are fine, and so I am fine,” Valhalla replied with a casual shrug. “Shane’s all right too. He’s still asleep.”

“That’s good. That poor boy must’ve had quite a fright.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but his eyes flickered to the other man who was kneeling down, examining the carcass with a critical eye, and so Lewis refrained from speaking further, wringing his hat anxiously.

“Something big indeed,” the stranger, whom Valhalla could only pin as Marlon, murmured, mostly to himself it seemed as he stepped over the deer onto the porch, going to the front door. He ran his fingers over the scours in the wood, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Did you see what it was?”

“No. Shane said it was a wolf though, or of a sort.”

Marlon hummed, examining the door a little while longer before turning to step off the porch again, following the trails of footprints around the house and yard without another word.

“I should move that,” Valhalla sighed, looking down at the carcass Marlon had to go over twice and Lewis doing all he could to pretend it didn’t exist, his face looking a little pale under his mustache. “Give me a moment?”

Leaving Lewis to recover from seeing a half-eaten deer, Valhalla grabbed two of its remaining legs and dragged it across the dew-covered grass, leaving a puddle of congealing blood in her wake. She dumped it far away from her house in the thicket, hoping that either something would come back and finish eating it or the smell of decay wouldn’t blow into her house.

She was far too used to that sort of thing than she ever wanted to admit.

When she returned, Lewis was looking a little better, although his eyes were averted from the scarlet trail in the wet grass. Marlon was nowhere in sight, but Valhalla knew he was still around.

“So,” Lewis began, clearing his throat, his hat still in his hands. “I… hope things with Shane are… better now?”

“He made an honest mistake,” Valhalla replied, giving the man a gentle clap on the shoulder. “We are well.”

Valhalla could feel Lewis physically slump under her hand in relief, pulling the cap back onto his head.

“That’s good. That’s really good. The whole town was upset, but he crossed the line with you, certainly.”

“He crossed the line when he directed his anger at the wrong person before I ever arrived,” Valhalla pointed out. “But he was rightfully upset. It was simply misplaced.”

“Yes, well, Shane has had… trouble before.”

Lewis didn’t go into further details, and Valhalla didn’t ask. It was not Lewis’ place to tell her, nor was her place to ask. If Shane wanted her to know, when he would tell her. There was something deep and sorrowful in his heart that she could resonate with, even if she did not know what it was. It was a familiar feeling, a familiar look in his eyes and a weight on his shoulders that Valhalla knew was in her own person.

Still, it was not the time for him to disclose it to her, and she wouldn’t pry. Especially not from a third party.

A muffled beeping caught Valhalla’s ears, the cartilage twitching slightly as she heard the distant groan and fumbling from inside the home. It was several minutes before Shane ambled out into the early morning light, his jacket on and his borrowed shirt hidden under the zipper. His hair was in disarray as he squinted in the light, the scowl pre-etched on his face already turning sourer when he spotted the two of them on the bottom of the step. That or because Valhalla gave him a bright smile.

“Good morning, Shane!”

Shane, in turn, growled something out that was barely words at all, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Would you like a ride back to Marnie’s, Shane?” Lewis asked, his tone polite. Shane grumbled, but his head did give a distinctive bob of a nod as he scuffed his feet across the planks of the porch and towards Lewis’ truck. Valhalla smiled after him with kind amusement. He definitely wasn’t a morning person.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head after Shane.

“Well, I guess I’ll be making my leave. Marlon will be gone for a while, so I’ll stop by later to make sure everything is all right.”

“Okay.”

Just as the man went to turn away, Valhalla reached out, gently taking hold of his arm to stop him.

“…Thank you,” she murmured quietly, her eyes focused away. “About the… library thing. Gunther told me.”

“Oh Valhalla, please, don’t worry about it,” the old man smiled, giving her hand a kind pat. “I should have realized things may be difficult for you, but please know that this is a tight-knit community, and we take care of our own. You are one of us now, so we wish nothing more than your happiness.”

Valhalla gave him a small smile in return, her hand slipping away from his arm to let him continue back towards the truck.

She was a part of their community now, she mused, waving Lewis and Shane farewell as they rumbled out of her driveway. It was a nice thought, although she wasn’t sure if he meant it. She wanted to believe it, and Lewis didn’t seem the kind of man to lead her wrong.

Valhalla decided she would give him the benefit of the doubt.


	13. The Monster of the Ranch, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marlon finishes his search for clues on the unknown creature. Valhalla decides to take things into her own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry for the few days of nothing! I went on a small vacation for a bit, but now I'm back! 
> 
> This chapter was written in pieces over several days, so I do not know how coherent it is since I wanted to post it before I forgot c: 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, friends! Please feel free to ask questions, comment, or suggest anything, either in the comments or on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Enjoy!

Valhalla had just finished watering her crops when the sound of Marlon returning caught her attention.

He stepped out of the underbrush, surprisingly untouched by needy twigs and clingy leaves, although he still made the motion of shaking the invisible additions off his cape. His face was set into a hard expression, serious yet hard to read at this distance.

“Find anything?” Valhalla asked, straightening up from her hunched position over a bean trellis, the tiny pale flowers on the vines forgotten for the moment as she focused on the main matter at hand.

“Definitely a canine of some large breed,” Marlon replied, his voice as gruff as his face. He looked battle-hardened, Valhalla noticed with sudden clarity now that she had a good look at him. He held himself with the pose of a warrior, a fighter confident in his skill but not overly so. Shane mentioned he fought monsters, and although she hadn’t seen any true monsters yet in Ferngill other than the people, if they were like anything like the beasts that dwelt in Klo, then he should be held in higher regard. Fighting monsters wasn’t an easy job, and neither was her mother’s family profession of taming them.

He came up to her shoulders, just shorter than Gunther, who came up to about her nose, although the hat may throw her off a little on that mark. Still, Marlon didn’t seem intimidated by her bulk at all, which was a relief in itself.

Marlon stood just outside the tilled area, observing Valhalla just as much as she was of him. His face remained unreadable, and Valhalla simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“You are not from these parts.”

That statement made Valhalla raise both her eyebrows in a silent “ _Really? I didn’t realize”._ The mental sarcasm was well-written across her face, although Marlon did little to correct himself and instead asked;

“Where are you from?”

“Klo,” Valhalla answered readily, carefully stepping out of the trellises to put her tools back onto the porch, dumping the remaining water in the watering can onto the bloody splotch in front of her steps to wash it away.

“Klo…” The man let out a low hum, his fingers drumming idly against the hilt of his sword that he put on his belt sometime between he disappearing and reappearing out of the woods. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

Valhalla stopped, bent over as she paused in setting the watering can on the porch.

“What does ringing bells have to do with this?” she inquired, straightening back up to look at him with utter bafflement.

“I…what?”

Even Marlon was confused now, the two of them staring at each other for several more seconds before realization slowly crossed the man’s face.

“It’s a turn of phrase, meaning I don’t recall ever hearing or been to the place you’re from.”

“Oh! How strange.” Valhalla wasn’t sure why he didn’t just say that in the first place, but the citizens of Ferngill were very peculiar to start with, so perhaps it was simply a part of their charm. “But that’s okay that you don’t know. Klo is very set apart from the rest of the world, even from its closest neighbors. Well… before Gotoro decided to…”

Valhalla trailed off at the end, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair.

“Anyway, do you need anything more, or are you finished looking around?”

“Ah, I will need to go and investigate the tracks that went off the south end of your property, since the trail went cold somewhere west of the old retaining walls.”

“Oh! Then you can talk to Marnie! They had something eating and harassing their animals, so it probably goes over there somewhere. Maybe she’ll have some ideas!”

Marlon’s face finally expressed something other than straight seriousness or mild confusion. An unfamiliar emotion flitted across his expression before he cleared his throat, forcing his face to smooth before Valhalla could pinpoint exactly what it was.

“Yes, well, no need to bother her when she has work to do.”

Valhalla gave Marlon an incredulous look before a laugh escaped her before she could stop herself.

“Nonsense!” she grinned, stepping over to weave an arm through one of his own, pinning it to her side.

“Marnie would be happy to help regardless of what she was doing prior! It was her chickens, and she would be more than grateful for your help!”

And with that she began to lead Marlon down the foot-worn path that wound down to the southern entrance of the farm, a smile on her face while Marlon stumbled  a little along the way, trying in vain to get his arm free.

The ranch was in view by the time Valhalla let Marlon go, giving him a sideways look that almost dared him to try to run away now that they were in sight of the house. Marlon, bless him, didn’t say a word, instead rubbing his elbow as he grumbled about being able to walk himself under his breath.

He couldn’t gripe much further when the front door opened, Marnie stepping out in some boots and overalls, lugging two large buckets in each hand.

“Hello Marnie!” Valhalla called, waving to the woman who blinked and smiled, setting the buckets down on the front step.

“Hello Valhalla! Oh! And hello Marlon!” she replied, after noticing the other man.

“Hello,” was all Marlon could say, his voice catching in his throat for a moment that made him sound slightly hoarse.

“Marlon’s looking into the creature that attacked your chickens,” Valhalla plowed on as if she didn’t notice.

It was very peculiar, Valhalla mused, as she watched Marnie lead Marlon towards the chicken coop, explaining everything she knew about the situation, Marlon slipping back into his serious reprieve. For the brief moment that she had seen, Marlon had almost appeared _nervous_ in dealing with Marnie. However, Valhalla didn’t know much about him, nor his relationship with Marnie, although she seemed quite at ease around him.

It was something she would have to observe from a distance.

By the time Valhalla had caught up to the pair, Marlon had already scanned the remaining terror of the chicken coop that had yet to be fixed and was scouting the land with a critical eye. She slid beside Marnie, gently touching the other woman on the crook of her arm in a comforting gesture.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Marnie didn’t sound too convincing, her voice shaking a little as she took in a deep breath. “It’s just very sad. I know that I should be angry that my animals got killed and hurt, but… that poor creature that had gone to eating chickens instead of wild animals…. It must’ve been hungry. We never had any problems like this before. Slimes and the like occasionally sneak out of the deeper parts of the woods or the mines, but they never bother the livestock much. And to chase after Shane… it must be so scared that it preferred to attack than to run away…”

Marnie seemed so _concerned_ , her hands wringing in almost the same anxious gesture that she had seen a hundred times from Virgil in any given social situation. Her compassion for a creature she never met nor seen, even after all it had done to her own animals that she put such devotion into raising only to be snatched away in an instant and having given Shane the scare of his life was something that Valhalla admired, her hand dropping from Marnie’s arm to her anxious hands to pause the motion under her fingertips.

“Everything will be well,” she told the woman gently, even as Marlon came tromping back through the pasture. “I give you my word.”

Her hand slipped away as soon as Marlon rejoined them, stern for the brief second before letting out a sigh.

“Franky, I haven’t got a clue,” he replied, scratching his beard as he mulled. “Too far away from Calico to be a coyote, too big to be any domesticated stray. And the vague description of it being a wolf is the closest I got, but they’ve been extinct in these parts for almost a century now. The only logical conclusion I can come up with is that someone let loose a non-native species into the environment.”

Marnie was looking even more concerned, her hands rising to her mouth as her lips moved wordlessly to form “poor thing”.

“That is… not a good thing, yes?” Valhalla tried to piece together the severity of the situation at hand.

“It isn’t,” Marlon confirmed with a grunt. “They either go two ways- starve to death or kill off the native species. This one appears to be doing the latter.”

Valhalla was quiet for a moment, considering both Marlon and Marnie’s words. An unidentified creature, possibly not from this region or landmass, hunting things that are easier to catch because it was hungry.

“I will take care of it,” she said suddenly, clapping both of them on the shoulder before she turned and headed out of the pasture and towards town, leaving the pair standing in the field watching on in jointed confusion.

Meat was expensive. Then again, buying the biggest slabs of meat she could find in Pierre’s didn’t help the least, but she was determined even if it did scrape the last of her savings into Pierre’s pockets.

Ah well, the man needed to live somehow.

Still, the plan of actually _feeding_ a wild animal as she set the thawed meat into the offering plate as the sun began to creep behind the trees was a bit ludicrous. But it was free, easy meal for whatever it was that was living in these parts, and perhaps it would taste better than the half-eaten deer that was off in the bushes somewhere. Eating chicken and eating steak wasn’t too far of a stretch…right?

Yet as she cooked her own evening meal of scant scraps of vegetables in order to make them last until harvest, Valhalla wondered if the creature would be suspicious and not come back. Its claw marks were still on her front door- it gave it character, to say the least- but certainly anything of that caliber would remember its attack and find the offering a bit too convenient. Perhaps even assume that it was poisoned, if it was smart enough.

…Well… she wasn’t sure how cognitively developed the creatures of Ferngill were. Klo’s native beasts were far too clever and vicious in a startling combination. It was a wonder to outsiders how her people managed to thrive among them and even tame a few of the species. Here, she had been mostly trapped in the city, where the only animals were the people themselves that bustled and bumped against each other like blind sheep, and out in the country there were domesticated animals, some birds, and the occasional deer, but nothing that struck her as an intelligent monster.

Marnie did mention something called slimes, but Valhalla hadn’t got a clue as to what they were, but they were out of the question for whatever it was that was tromping through the wilds of Stardew Valley. She would have to ask Marlon for specifics about the local monster population later, as she settled onto the couch with a sigh.

Now all she had to do was wait.

A soft sound pulled Valhalla out of her doze, blinking in the semi-darkness. The bright moon shone through the windowpanes, casting a soft light into her surroundings.

Another quiet thump from the direction of the front porch caused Valhalla to get to her feet as silently as she could, creeping towards the door.

Her ears caught the sound of shuffling, ceramic sliding against the wood slightly before teeth cracking against the bone inside the steak broke through the mostly quiet night.

Valhalla stopped her approach to the door when she was only a foot away, the crunching of bone stopping as soon as she did so. She waited in silence for several seconds before the creature on the other side of the door moved, a loud snuffling amplified through the crack at the bottom of the door that it was sniffing through.

Slowly, she sunk down towards the floor, bringing her hands close to the gap so that the creature could smell her more clearly. The sound reminded her of the dog-headed creatures her mother used to raise, cautious and curious sniffing about at everything.

_“Hello,”_ she whispered softly to the crack, the sniffing stopping to where she could almost see the creature’s ears swivel to listen regardless of the door between them. _“Would you like some more?”_

Perhaps it did understand her, perhaps it didn’t, but regardless of terms of intelligence, the creature did paw at the bottom of the door, a soft whine echoing through the gap.

_“Okay okay. Patience,_ ” Valhalla gently scolded the creature, and the pawing stopped, although its presence was still on the other side of the door. She rose to her feet, stepping quietly as she made her way back to the kitchen. She used a cloth to pick up a thawed steak from the fridge, creeping back to the door.

“ _Be good,_ ” she whispered to the creature as she turned the handle, shifting her foot so that it would block the door from swinging open all the way. In the narrow space that she had created, Valhalla could get a clear look at the creature on the other side.

It was _massive_ , even while sitting it was a dark mass of fur and muscle, possibly able to come up to her hips if it stood on all fours. Its eyes glinted red in the semi-darkness, sharp ears perking slightly at it waited with wary patience for its food.

It was a Timberline Terror. Of all things, someone had actually _smuggled_ a rare, highly intelligent wolf breed into Ferngill. Known for their massive size, vicious attacks, but strong sense of loyalty, some of the Gotoro Empire actually _paid_ people to go to the harsh, mountain woodlands in the far reaches of their territory to try to catch and tame a few of these creatures to breed into very smart, very dangerous war dogs.

There had some minimal successes in a wolf bonding with an individual, but they did not do well at all when they were trying to be sold or given away to another without the proper long, tedious process of transferring loyalty and respect, often going berserk or escaping. Valhalla could recall that even some Kloians sought out the wolves before the Empire took over, the mountain range that their territory expanded on starting at the very corner of Klo. Her eldest brother had always dreamt of befriending one when he was younger, and the thought almost caused a wane smile to creep into the corners of her lips as she observed the creature before her.

The bond between a Timberline and a person was that to last a lifetime, not a quick, easy cash deal.

This wolf was more battle-hardened and dangerously calm as it watched her as she slowly moved the steak up into view and gave it a gentle toss onto the porch. Most likely, some Ferngillian soldier caught it injured or unaware and decided that they could bring one of these canines home as an impressive statement, not knowing what they were, how to take care of them, or their temperament when in the presence of others it doesn’t like. It probably broke out and ran away, outsmarting whatever fool had thought to put such a creature into a normal dog kennel.

It was for the best it had gotten out here and not in the middle of the city. Who knew how many elderly people and young children it would have eaten through before it had gotten caught. Sly and stealthy, they were, and without a human who had gained its respect to keep it from attacking others, the beasts had no qualms in hunting down anything easy that they could get their jaws around.

No wonder the chickens were the first to go. Cows and cattle were too large and tedious to chase when on an empty stomach. The deer was most likely injured when it had caught it too, resulting in its untimely demise. Shane, too, would have been an easier target, an unfit man bumbling around in the dark. The creature either didn’t realize how fast Shane could run in a panic, or simply chased the man for some sort of amusement.

Either thought was possible.

The wolf in question observed the tossed meat on the floor with a critical eye, its ears turned towards her, listening for any sign of unwanted movement from her. Valhalla remained where she was as it slunk towards the meat, picking it up carefully in its jaws before backing away, taking the steak with it down the steps with a slight limp in one of its forelimbs a safe distance between it and Valhalla.

It lifted its head, red eyes boring into Valhalla’s purple, but she remained steady and calm, unafraid of the creature before her. It studied her for several seconds before lowering its head, bone cracking loudly against its teeth as it ate the second steak in its entirety.

Valhalla didn’t move from her spot, respecting the creature’s space. The last thing she needed was to get onto the creature’s bad side, as it would chase her to the ends of the earth to seek vengeance. But from the way it acted to her words before she had opened the door, it seemed that it had some understanding of Kloian. Perhaps it had interacted with her people before, and from its calmer, but still wary demeanor told her that her people had treated its kind with respect, and in turn didn’t warrant any sort of hostility towards her.

“ _You are a hungry thing, aren’t you?”_ she whispered to it, the ears turning in her direction but the creature didn’t tense. “ _Please, I will feed you more if you do not eat the people or the livestock.”_

The wolf remained impassive, licking its lips as it finished its meal. It eyed her for a moment longer before making a strange sort of huff and turning away, black fur disappearing into the shadowy darkness of the evening towards the forest that laid beyond her western fence line.

Valhalla took that as a success, a smile breaking across her face as she rose back up to her feet. She still had several more steaks, and she was sure her crops would grow soon enough to provide more for the wolf.

Perhaps, next time it showed up, she would be allowed to give it a name. Agrion sounded like a good name, based off a tale from the Archipelago of Leon that Virgil mentioned once about a massive, black dragon with red eyes that used to terrorize the land and all its inhabitants. After all, she couldn’t just keep calling it “wolf”, “it”, or any other variant of nondescript terms.

Agrion the Black- it was perfect.


	14. Flower Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla finds herself going to the Flower Dance. Dancing happens. A few other things happen too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gOD I disappear for a few days without checking my inbox and I get five comments on this story. FIVE! 
> 
> @wolfie: If you are hoping for what you are hoping for, tHEN THIS IS THE CHAPTER FOR YOU-!  
> @SelenaWolf: i ALSO SEE YOU AND I LOVE YOU I SEE THAT RELATED STORY WHICH I DIDN'T KNOW WAS A THING AND OH BOY DO I GOT GOOD THINGS FOR YOU TOO. (also as soon as I'm done screaming I will read it- guys go read it please I haven't yet but I bet it's good).  
> @kaigoe: Love you fam <3  
> @Monatae: I'm glad you love it too <3 
> 
> ANYWAY, I apologize for the yelling. I am really excited. ALSO good things happen in this chapter, which is why it is extra long! (by like a thousand words, whoops). 
> 
> Thank you for all the kind comments and kudos! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Convincing Lewis to give Agrion a second chance when he appeared at her doorstep early the next morning was proving to be a more difficult task. The man stood on the step, expression stern and arms folded as Valhalla explained to him about the situation, her hands gesturing as she spoke. Valhalla did all she could to tell him why she could take care of the dog and not continue to try to hunt it down, spending a good twenty minutes pleading her case.

“He’s a good dog, Lewis,” she told him. “A bit wild, but smart, and very hungry. Just was in a strange place and did what he could to survive.”

Lewis looked at her for several seconds before letting out a long sigh, taking his cap off to run his fingers through the white strands on his head, the serious expression he had been wearing prior melting to slight exasperated.

“You won’t take no for an answer, will you?” he replied, setting the cap back onto his head before pinning Valhalla with a look that told her he meant business. “I will speak to Marnie about it, but if she says no, or if it hurts anyone or any of her animals, it has to go.”

Valhalla beamed, wrapping her arms around the man and spinning him around a full circle as she hefted him off the ground, causing him to make a soft squawk of surprised protest.

“Thank you! I will do all I can!”

“Yes, well, Marnie still needs to approve,” he muttered, smoothing down his shirt as soon as Valhalla set him back down on his feet. “But knowing her, I’m sure as long as you keep… Agrion… from doing any more harm, then you may as well call him yours.”

Things settled down after that. The days went by without any sort of conflict with Agrion, and Valhalla worked hard to earn his trust.

Her green beans exploded in population as well, and she gave Pierre a near heart attack when she came in carrying an entire wicker basket full of it. Most of it went to a neat trade for more meat, as well as Pierre’s entire stock of canning jars, which she lugged home while tickling her brain for the exact means to pickling and jams.

Agrion was growing slightly warmer to her presence as well. Some mornings he could be found sleeping at the bottom of her step, lifting his head to give her a bland look whenever she opened the door before taking whatever meat she offered and slinking off into the woods again to eat it. Sometimes he would come back to sit at the edge of the trees, watching her water her crops or break and move stone. He disappeared when Robin came to put up fencing, however, as if he had anticipated her arrival as he was absent from Valhalla’s stoop when she went out that morning.

The air was getting warmer as the days went by, the mornings still mild, but the afternoons were picking up in temperature as the sun steadily climbed higher and higher in angle. The trees were full of blossoms now, and the fields were brimming with wildflowers and the soft buzzing of bees.

Perhaps she could invest in an apiary, Valhalla mused one evening, setting a few of the largest, sweetest green beans into the offering plate by her door.

The next morning, one such apiary was set in the edge of her property, already filled with the happy buzzing of bees.

Valhalla had put her first jar of pickled beans into the offering plate that evening for a silent thanks to whatever entity had given her such a wonderful gift.

One morning in late spring, however, Valhalla was greeted by the quiet rumble of Lewis' truck and the grinding of gravel under tires. She lifted her head from behind the bean trellises to see several beautiful ladies hop out from the bed of the truck, careful on the shale walkway.

“Why hello!” she called to them, standing up and brushing the dirty off her knees. “I never expected to be graced by such beautiful people!”

“You’re such a tease!” Abigail appeared from behind a blond woman Valhalla didn’t know, hiking her skirts up to expose the trainers that did not match the white dress she wore at all as she tromped through the grass towards the fence, ignoring her mother’s call to come back before she got the dress dirty. “But we’ve come to whisk you away from your duties and you’re not even ready!”

“Ready for what?”

Valhalla was perplexed as her eyes trailed towards the others. They were all dressed in similar fashion of dresses and pretty lace, their hairs done pretty and jewelry around their wrists and throats. They looked so beautiful, Valhalla wasn’t lying about that, but why on earth were they here, and why did they mean she wasn’t ready?

“Lewis didn’t tell you, did he?” That was Penny, a soft sigh on her lips as she spoke, smoothing her dress with anxious hands. “I suppose he forgot.”

“And I guess you were right about not remembering things written to you, huh?” Abigail grinned.

“No… but what is this… thing, that I was not told about?”

“Just the Annual Flower Dance, of course.” That was the blond woman, who huffed slightly as she tucked a strand of gold behind her ear, wrinkling her nose slightly. “And you are going to need a bath before you even think about coming along.”

“Don’t be mean, now, Haley,” Caroline butted in gently, giving the now-known girl a pat on the shoulder. “But she is correct. You will need to clean quickly if we are to make it in time. You missed the Egg Festival, but we figured that you were busy at the farm. Lewis will not allow anyone to skip out on the Flower Dance, however, and so we made it our duty to help a fellow girl clean up and appear on time, lest Lewis becomes cross.”

Soon enough, Valhalla found herself herded into her own house, Leah and Emily quick to explore her closet as she was shoved into the bathroom to wash up.

“You don’t have any good shoes to wear!” Haley called through the door, obviously horrified at the prospect of one having no other footwear.

“My sandles are fine,” she answered back, ruffling her hair with a towel. It was starting to grow out, she noticed with slight surprise. Half of her wanted to cut it again, but the other half whispered that it was time to move on and let it grow back.

Valhalla shook her head, knowing it wasn’t the time nor the place to think about such things as a loud excited squeal drew her attention.

“Oh! You _have_ to wear this!” Emily cried, the door cracking open as something long and colorful appeared through the narrow opening. “Why would you have this hidden in the back of your closet? It’s so beautiful!”

Breath caught in Valhalla’s throat as she stared at the silk in Emily’s hand, previously hidden under fragile paper and twine. She couldn’t say that she hid it because it had been made by her sister, or that she had never actually worn it- she couldn’t say anything as a lump formed and blocked any means of speaking, her fingers trembling slightly as she took the object from the hand that quickly disappeared back behind the door.

The silk was cool and smooth under her fingertips, weaved in deep blues and burgundies with patterns of gold and white embedded threaded through. It draped over one shoulder, exposing the other and trailed down to her ankles in long flowing waves. It was slightly loose in places where it should have been conforming before- a testament of the loss of weight and mass since she had left home so many years ago. But it was a simple fix of tying the sash a little tighter around her middle, and Valhalla found herself staring into the mirror at her reflection, and perhaps, just a little, she could imagine herself back home, surrounded by her family wearing such a traditional garb.

No, she told herself, pushing her bangs back up from her face as she took a steadying breath. She wasn’t home. She was someplace that could be home, someday, but for now she was alone, and there were people waiting on her. And so she took another breath, squared her shoulders, and gently stepped out of the bathroom.

Emily and Caroline were waiting for her on the other side, their eyes widening as the blue-haired girl actually gasped.

“You look _stunning_ ,” she gushed softly, reaching out to gently run her fingers over the silk. “It suits you so well!”

“Oh my _Yoba_.” Haley had rounded the corner from the bedroom, rushing forward to walk around Valhalla. “A little make-up could complete this look!”

Whatever horrified expression that crossed Valhalla’s face at that was enough to have Caroline cover her mouth and giggle like a little girl, causing Abigail to poke her head out and ogle at well.

The Flower Dance took place in a large swath of grass somewhere south of the forest beyond Marnie’s ranch. The grass had been mowed  and decorations set up, with tables of food to one side and music being played either on a music system seemingly run by Sebastian or done by Gus and a few of the older members of the village with instruments of their own when they had time between talking, eating, and their own dancing.

Lewis smiled brightly as the girls came, only growing more radiant as he took notice of Valhalla stepping out of the truck.

“You clean up very nicely,” he told her, not unkindly, and she smiled back, giving the suited man a sharp slap on the back that caused him to wince before chuckling, as if he had been expecting anything less from her.

Robin came down to greet them with a swirl of her own dress, and Valhalla didn’t linger long as she ambled over to the free food at the tables, Shane already working his way through some of it, looking rather uncomfortable in his suit with tie undone and the top three buttons popped open.

“How is it?” she asked him, causing him to turn and proceed to choke on whatever was in his mouth, eyes wide.

“Good,” he wheezed, managing to dislodge the hazard in his throat and swallow it down. “Just… good.”

Valhalla merely smiled and made herself a plate before gliding across the grass towards where she spotted Marlon on the other side of the clearing.

“You were forced to come too, I see. Didn’t even change,” Valhalla mused as she slid up beside him, nibbling on some sort of skewer. Indeed, Marlon didn’t change one bit. From cape to leather boots, he was the same as he was when she first met him, only that his hair was brushed back and his beard looked a little trimmed up from before.

“Mrs. Blackwell dragged me down,” he muttered, gesturing his head towards Robin who was dancing with Demetrius in the middle of the clearing. “Said it was better than the alternative, and I am inclined to believe.”

Valhalla hummed, her eyes drifting over to where Lewis was, where he was chatting to Evelyn.

“Are you going to dance?” she inquired, drifting back over to Marlon. “I heard this was a dance.”

Marlon let out a long sigh, his eyes flitting over to Marnie before back to gazing at the dancing couples before them. “No, I don’t think so.”

Valhalla caught the brief look, staring at Marlon before a smirk curled into the corners of her lips. Oho-!

“Now now, come on! What’s wrong a dance?” Valhalla laughed. “And Marnie looks awfully lonely. You should go ask!”

Marlon spluttered slightly, and Valhalla knew she had him caught. And since Lewis seemed preoccupied talking with the others, well, a dance wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

“Come on, then! Get to it!”

Marlon stumbled away at the push, the action catching Marnie’s attention as she went over to make sure he was alright. The man looked like a fish out of water, the poor dear, and Valhalla didn’t even need to hear him stumble over his words. Still, he gave a slight bow to Marnie, a hand extended, and the woman looked honestly surprised before a slight blush crossed her features and accepted the offered hand.

Mission accomplished, Valhalla patted herself on the back and rewarded herself with a small edge of melon off her plate, grinning as the pair drifted through the other dancing partners. Many others had drifted off to the grassy dancing floor- Abigail spinning around Emily with obvious disregard to traditional dances and creating their own fun, the boy who owned Dusty the dog was enjoying a slower pace with Leah as he and a long-haired man that Valhalla did not know switched partners with him for an obviously shy, but smiling Penny. Clint had been dragged off from the corner by a girl she didn’t know either, but had a similar facial structure to that of Robin, who smirked as much as Valhalla had done previously to Marlon before she “accidentally” bumped her partner into Emily, causing the blacksmith to turn about four shades of scarlet. Caroline was off to the side, looking like she was ready to snag Pierre’s arm and drag him out to dance as well, and the others were hanging around and talking idly to each other.

Valhalla couldn’t see Rasmodius, but she could feel the slight prickle of the back of her neck to know that he was around. Probably hiding- the shy man, and she had seen Gus go over to the bushes on the other side of the marked area to give a plate to Linus who disappeared behind the bushes as soon as he quietly accepted the offering. Morris was nowhere to be found, though, but she supposed that a soulless, soul-stealing creature like himself had work to be done, after all.

Valhalla had just put the last slice of fruit into her mouth when a presence slid up beside her, a familiar shade of blue catching her eye first.

“Oh, hello Gunther,” she smiled down at the man, not as far as some of the others as the brim of his hat came to her nose. He hadn’t bothered to change at all either, but then again, he always wore nice clothes, so it wasn’t like he needed to change much at all for such a formal event. A faint smile quirked into the corners of his lips, tipping his hat up slightly with a gloved hand, the sunlight glinting off the blue glasses that hid his eyes.

“Hello Valhalla,” he returned, his eyes drifting down to her attire. A soft, confused furrow of his brow followed as he took in her clothing, head tilting back up enough to let her know he had lifted his gaze back to her face.

“That outfit is… very nice, but seemingly out of place here.”

“I know,” Valhalla sighed, lifting a hand to run her fingers through her hair. “But pretty girls are my weakness. And pretty boys. And everyone is so very pretty here.”

A slight startled laugh escaped from the man beside her, stifling it with a cough behind a curled hand.

“Yes, well, I’m sure they meant well, even if they do not understand,” he replied, dropping his hand. “Lewis all but dragged me out of the library. Said if I was going to miss every other function, I had to least come to this one.”

“That sounds like Lewis all right.”

They fell silent after that, watching the couples dance as the music changed to a different song.

“You look very beautiful yourself, you know.”

Valhalla blinked, turning her eyes down to the man who was looking away, still observing the others as if he had said nothing. She watched him for several seconds, before a sly smile crawled onto her lips.

“Do you know how the ancient Kloian people used to initiate a dance?”

That drew Gunther’s attention away from the crowd, his head turning up to look at her, brows reaching towards the brim of his hat.

“No, I don’t believe I do.”

“Well, it’s very simple,” she began, setting the paper plate down onto the fence post. Her hand moved upward, lifting the blue hat off his head and set it down on her own, tugging the headware down over her hair. She never realized how long Gunther’s hair was, the hat distracting her from the long tail that draped over his shoulder in dark strands. A few loose strays fell over his face, free from the confines of his hat that was now firmly on her head, her ears wiggling and eyes catching the light as she beamed down at the man with obvious glee.

“You take their hat and then they must dance with you until it falls off.”

Valhalla got the impression that he was staring at her, eyes hidden behind the blue glass, but his face was readable enough, open and surprise before it shifted into amusement.

“There is no such thing,” he replied knowingly. “Kloians don’t have hats such as this. But I can take a hint when I see one.”

With that the man bowed lowly, offering a gloved hand out to her, to which she grinned and accepted.

Dancing with Gunther wasn’t quite like dancing with anyone else back home. He knew some of the steps, but not all, and neither did she knew any of the steps of the dances that Ferngill had or anyone else were using around her. Still, they made their way slow, often stepping on each other’s toes or bumping too close or getting to far away so that their arms strained to hold on. It was fun all the same, Valhalla finding herself giggling like she hadn’t done so in so many years, and Gunther had a small smile on his face that she couldn’t read the meaning behind.

They separated after a little while, mostly in part when a pair of tiny hands tugged on her sash and Valhalla was more than happy to spin Vincent along, high aloft in her arms to make the boy laugh and draw attention to the other small child in the congregation, and so Valhalla spun two giggling children along as they hung off either arm, feet off the ground and the others laughing at the sight. Even Jodi had a faint smile on her face, although she continued to watch with great attention upon her until she set the two children down and they ran off to who knows where.

Valhalla danced with a few more people- the flouncy, long-haired man from before who introduced himself as Elliot, who had such a way with words that he lost her on several occasions, the Dusty-boy who only came over to thank her in person for saving Dusty from the crime he didn’t commit, but Valhalla dragged him along into a dance all the same, causing his more confident exterior to crack. She even got to dance with Pierre, pulling the man from his stand of wares with her superior strength and spun him dizzy before depositing him into the arms of his wife, telling him to live a little which caused Abigail to cackle with laugher from the other side of the clearing before Valhalla descended on her and took her for a spin too, causing her to wheeze with laughter as Valhalla spun her off her feet in a complete circle.

All too soon, the crowd broke away from the dancing ring, Gunther pulling her off to the side with a gentle hand and Lewis called for the Flower Dancers.

“What’s the Flower Dancers?” she whispered, the brim of his hat still on her head bumping against the top of his head as she leaned down.

“Traditional dance of the festival,” he whispered back as the younger members of the crowd lined up. “The young, un-wedded members of the village pair up and dance. It is said to bring good fortune to them.”

“Ah.” 

Valhalla couldn’t help but feel a little left out as the slow music began to play, being led by Gus on his violin as the young ladies and gentlemen bowed and curtsied respectfully and began the traditional weaving along the spring grass. It brought a sense of longing that Valhalla had forced herself to forget for years, a quiet sigh leaving her as she watched on. It was all so very beautiful, but Valhalla knew that she would never be a part of it, even if she wanted to.

Perhaps it was better that way.

The dance ended with the final wavering note, and everyone around the clearing began to clap and cheer. Valhalla jerked her hands into motion as she politely clapped along as well. And after that, the party wound down. The music equipment was packed up, the tables cleared and folded, the garbage collected and tucked into the back of Lewis’ truck for proper disposal. Some of the others had already left, Marnie, Shane, and Jas choosing to walk home since it was so close by, followed shortly by Leah and Elliot, who had no qualms in walking. Emily wandered off to talk to Linus somewhere along the way, and Clint was helping Gus clean up. The others were either helping the clean up or waiting to pile into either Robin’s truck or Lewis’, talking and laughing between themselves as the afternoon sun drifted closer towards evening.

“I should go home,” Valhalla stated after helping the others the best she could, the rest of the work they denied her help on.

“I will walk with you,” Gunther replied from her side, his sudden presence causing her to startle slightly, only stopping herself reacting poorly by digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands.

Gloved fingers gently took hold of her wrist, a thumb smoothing with gentle concern across the underside of her arm.

“Sorry,” she whispered softly, the action loosening her nails from her palms. “Guess I’m tired.”

Valhalla got a gentle, patient smile in return, the fingers on her wrist leaving as he bent his arm in a silent offer, to which she only hesitated briefly before looping her arm through his own.

The walk back to the southern entrance to her property was silent, leaving each other to their own thoughts.

“Thank you,” Valhalla murmured as she ground to a stop at the fence line, where the old gravel road melted into foot-beaten paths that wandered through the trees and up the steep hillsides. “Today was… fun.”

She hesitated briefly, before suddenly realizing that she was _still_ wearing Gunther’s hat. Awkwardly, she tried to reach up to grab it, but Gunther’s fingers found their way around her wrist again, grounding her.

“Keep it,” he replied, a gentle smile on his lips, his glasses catching the fading sunlight. “I got more.”

Valhalla stared at him as his fingers moved away from her wrist, her hand still half raised to her head. Slowly she dropped it to her side, a faint smile appearing on her own face in return.

“Thank you,” she said again, this time a bit more honesty in her tone. “I… thank you.”

It was all she could say, her grasp on the common Ferngillian language failing her even as Gunther smiled and took her hand from her side.

“Get some sleep,” he replied, pulling her hand up to his lips to press her knuckles gently to his lips, the whiskers of his goatee tickling her skin before he softly lowered her hand. “It’s been a long day.”

Valhalla couldn’t reply, only watch the man leave down the gravel path towards Marnie’s ranch and beyond to Pelican Town. Perhaps she was more tired than she thought, she sighed, running a hand over her face and shaking her head before forcing her feet to move through the foot-beaten pathways back to the quaint farmhouse.

Agrion was waiting for her by the steps, his nose twitching a little as the massive wolf sniffed in her direction, huffing and rising to his feet to walk away in clear sign that he didn’t quite care much for the multitude of different scents on her. Valhalla wanted to reach out and pat him as he walked by, but he was out of arm’s reach, and she didn’t want to ruin what little trust she had built up in making herself feel better.

Instead, she went inside after kicking the dust off her heels in habitual gesture, quietly shutting the door behind her and staring at the dark wood in front of her for several seconds before she raised her hand to tug the hat off her head.

She spun it between her hands briefly, lost in her own head before gently setting it down on the kitchen counter as she made her way up the stairs to strip out of the soft silk and hid it away in the back of the closet once again in vain hope that it would take away the memories of home along with it.

It didn’t, but Valhalla collapsed all the same in exhaustion on the couch, eventually dozing off in the middle of her own spiraling thoughts and emotions. She couldn’t remember what she had dreamt come morning, but when she stood in the kitchen to make herself some tea, the blue in the corner of her eye that was provided by the hat sitting innocently on the counter brought forth an inkling of déjà vu, but she couldn’t place why.

Valhalla ran her fingers over the shaped fabric absently all the same before she went out to start her day. It made her feel marginally better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rOMANCES ARE BEGINNING TO BE HINTED AT GUYS. WHOOP WHOOP. 
> 
> Also I powered through this chapter without actually rereading through it so if there are any noticeable mistakes, please tell me! Thanks!


	15. Dinner at Jodi's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jodi approaches Valhalla with an invitation to dinner. Only, after dinner comes a can of worms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a doozy. 
> 
> WARNINGS: War is a terrible thing and atrocities happen. Some are mentioned in this, including enslavement, war camps, children soldiers, and various others. It's not a good topic, guys, but it had to be addressed.

“And the-“

Valhalla paused, squinting at the words on the page as if it would make her understand it better. It was a few days after the Flower Festival, spring drawing to a close, but not quite summer as of yet. Spring still had its last laugh, as rain pattered against the windows of the library at a steady pace.

Jas and Vincent were surprisingly agreeable to having Valhalla present with them during their schooling, agreeing with such eagerness to keep the fact that Valhalla didn’t know how to read quite yet a secret. Children their age loved secrets, even if they were sometimes very loose-lipped. Still, they kept their word after Valhalla’s first visit earlier in the season, grown used to the large woman’s presence and constant struggle.

Valhalla wanted to say that she was learning the language well, wanted to because at least she knew what each letter meant now for the most part, but combining them together into simple words threw her off entirely. The letters blurred together, the spaces small and irritating, and she tried her best to sound each letter out together in attempt to figure out what the word actually was.

Penny was very patient with her, a saint and goddess of patience and calm as the auburn haired woman sat beside her, waiting for Valhalla to make out the words on her own.

“It says ‘dog’,” Jas said from her right, not even lifting her head from her own mathematics worksheet.

“Dog?” Valhalla sounded out, even as Penny softly scolded the child for not letting Valhalla learn on her own. “But… the ‘D’ is backwards!”

“You are confusing the lower case ‘D’ with ‘B’,” Penny replied gently, pulling a sheet of paper closer. “Can you write the lower case forms of both letters for me?”

“I don’t understand why you must have uppers and lowers,” the Kloian grumbled, brows scrunched together as she diligently tugged the paper closer, gripping the pencil in her hand as if she was using a paint brush rather than a pen or pencil. Penny had tried and failed to correct her on her grip, but if it was the most comfortable to her, and so Penny simply let her be. “Makes things confusing.”

“Capitalization is a key factor in the language,” Penny answered. “Now, which one is ‘B’ and which one is ‘D’?”

Valhalla stared at the page, conflict and panic quickly etching across her features as she stared at the paper before her, the two simple letters staring back at her in bold mocking of graphic.

“…B…?” She pointed at one of the letters, her words coming out more as a question than an answer.

“Are you sure?” Penny pressed, not unkindly.

“…No?”

“Perhaps we should go over the alphabet again,” Penny hummed gently, flipping the sheet over to give her the blank side. “Let’s write both upper case and lower case, side by side.”

Valhalla dropped her head into a hand, elbow propped on the table and fingers curling tightly into her hair as she glared at the page as if it had personally offended her. But this was something she needed to get through, and she would do it. It simply wasn’t as easy as it was picking up the verbal language, as she had contact with that on the battle field long before ever stepping foot onto Ferngill soil. Still, she would be persistent, and she would learn this language in written form as well, even if the rules made no sense.

She was currently struggling over what the shape of a lower case ‘G’ was when the sound of the library door opened and let in the unmuffled sound of rainfall briefly before it closed again. Valhalla didn’t look up, but it certainly distracted the children, Vincent turning entirely in his chair to look.

“Mom!”

The boy leapt out of his seat and scurried over to beyond the bookshelves, wrapping his arms around Jodi’s leg as she tried to keep the umbrella from dripping onto her son.

“Vincent! You shouldn’t get distracted from your work,” Jodi chided, although there was no heat to her words as she ruffled the boy’s salmon hair.

Penny had gotten up to follow after her runaway pupil, and the conversation held between them dropped to where it was far too muffled by the bookshelves to be heard. Valhalla didn’t notice Jas slide off her chair to trot after Penny either, too focused on her work.

She was working her way through the peaks and valleys of the ‘M’s and ‘N’s when a soft cough dragged her concentration from the paper and up to Jodi who stood on the other side of the table, looking rather out of her depth.

“Er… hello,” Jodi began, wringing her hands over the strap of her purse in an attempt to alleviate the nerves that shone through her voice. “We… haven’t spoken before, have we? I’m Jodi.”

Valhalla lifted her head from her hand, setting the pencil down and not so subtly pulling a book over her work as she gave the woman a warm smile.

“Hello,” she greeted back. “It’s nice to meet you, Jodi. Call me Valhalla.”

“I know,” Jodi stated, seemingly before she could stop herself, judging from the slight flush of embarrassment that crept across her cheeks. “I mean, Vincent speaks highly of you.”

“Well, he is a good kid. He must say many good things about everyone.” Valhalla nodded her head, assured that this was most definitely the case. Vincent was a good boy, a bit adventurous and easily distracted, but he worked hard and smiled easy. He brought Jas out of her shell, their smiles shared and joyous as they got into mischief.

Her eyes traveled down as the boy in question appeared by his mother’s side, tugging gently on her skirt.

“Mom,” he whispered, or what a child would think was a whisper, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Did you ask yet?”

“Not yet, be patient, Vincent,” Jodi took the distraction, hushing the boy gently with a hand on his head. Her head lifted, hesitating as she looked at Valhalla before-

“Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”

Valhalla blinked, perplexed at the question. On one hand, she would never refuse free food, but on the other hand, she knew how Jodi was so hesitant to be around her, nervous still while speaking to her now in the library. And yet she asked regardless, putting her bravest face on.

“If it is no trouble. I mean not to bother.”

“YES!” And suddenly Vincent was running around the table to latch onto her arm, beaming from ear to ear as he tugged on her arm before Jodi could reply. “We are having mashed potatoes and gravy and chicken casserole- which has icky stuff in it but I will grow big and strong as Sam if I eat it!”

“And I’m sure you will!” Valhalla laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair in an affectionate gesture. “Now you should pick up. Can’t have Miss Penny clean up after us all by herself.”

The children began to pack away their things with vigor, Vincent complaining about having to put on rubber boots while his mother attempted to get him into his rain coat. Valhalla took the pile of books used from the shelves to carry back over to the front desk, Gunther peering over something on the computer screen before him on the other side and taking no notice of her presence.

Valhalla leaned over the counter to take a closer look, the images of people and places vaguely familiar to her but uncertain of where catching her eye, but it was quickly blocked by Gunther’s turning head, finding herself staring into the polished glass of his spectacles.

“Finished already?” His head tilted towards to an old grandfather clock that stood against one of the nearby walls. “I suppose it is getting near that time. Do you have an umbrella?”

“A little rain hurts no one,” Valhalla grinned, and without much thought reached out to gently tug the brim of his hat down his forehead, knocking his glasses slightly askew while the headwear blocked his face from view. “And I don’t suppose it isn’t rude here to wear headwear in buildings.”

That thought had plagued her for some time, now. Gunther was always wearing his hat, Rasmodius was always wearing a hat, and even Lewis was never seen without his. It seemed that it wasn’t something of a concern around these parts.

Gunther pushed his glasses back up to their proper position, clearing his throat a little before he lifted his hat higher, some strands of hair escaping from underneath under the action.

“It is not a general rule of thumb,” he admitted, before adding upon seeing the bewildered look that crossed Valhalla’s face- “That is, it is only followed by a select few.”

“Ah.” That made sense, as Valhalla let herself slide off the counter and straightened up. “I like your hair, though. You should show it often. It is of good length.” And it was true- he had such beautiful, long hair, and he was always hiding it under his silly hat. It made her miss her own hair, before she cut it off and continued to keep it short, although was by traditional-turned-personal choices. Briefly she wondered if Gunther ever braided it, and she could almost feel the texture between her fingers at the thought.

Nothing more could be said, however, as a small body ran into her leg, latching onto her hand with vibrating excitement.

“Come on, Miss Valhalla!”

“Okay okay, I’m coming!’ She let herself be led along, giving a final wave to Gunther, who gave a contemplative wave in return that she missed entirely before she was tugged out the door by a brightly-colored Vincent, his rubber boots smacking into the large puddle right outside the library door with gleeful satisfaction. Valhalla’s feet simply got soaked, the cobblestone path keeping the puddles from getting too slick with mud.

“Vincent! Please don’t run ahead like that!”

An umbrella-wielding Jodi came trotting after, catching up to them as Vincent pouted, Jas coming out of the library after them with Penny in hand.

“But the fish are jumping!” he replied, jutting a finger towards the river under the bridge.

“I know, dear, but you mustn’t run off. You could slip.” Jodi glanced up at Valhalla, as if she had forgotten already about her presence before she became awkward again, shifting her umbrella slightly towards the taller woman.

“Here-“ Gently as she could, Valhalla took the umbrella from Jodi’s grasp, holding it over both their heads. At least now she wouldn’t get completely soaked, just moderately soaked. She gave Jodi a grin, and she was sure that she saw a hint of a smile in return before Vincent ran off ahead of them again, this time being followed by Jas and a hurrying Penny.

By the time they waved Penny and Jas off further down the road, Valhalla was considerably soaked. The umbrella did some good, but without a coat or proper footwear, the rain had seeped through much of her clothing and the dampness soddened her hair.

“Do you have a towel I could borrow?”

“Hm? Oh! Yes, of course!” Jodi hurriedly shed her coat off, the umbrella by the door as she hung her rain gear up onto the coatrack. She bent down to unzip Vincent’s jacket before she disappeared further into the home, the child dutifully kicking his boots off and setting them beside the door while hanging up his coat by climbing onto a stepstool to reach the racks.

Jodi came back with the towel, and Valhalla marveled for a second as to how soft it was. However, she couldn’t spare long on it, reluctantly getting it entirely soaked as she rubbed her hair out.

By the time she was sufficiently dried off, Vincent had trotted off to his bedroom to deposit his backpack, and Jodi had disappeared to the kitchen, the open floor plan making it easy for her to see the other woman moving a pot onto the stove.

Carefully, Valhalla picked her way through the living and dining room, setting the towel over the back of a dining chair.

“Do you need help?”

Jodi nearly dropped the wooden spoon that had been in her hand, eyes wide as they turned to Valhalla.

“I- oh, no! You’re a guest, you don’t need to help!”

“Hm.” Valhalla’s eyes drifted over to the sink, where the utensils Jodi had used to prepare the meal so far were stacked. “I will help anyway.”

And that was that, it seemed, as Valhalla set to work in front of the sink, washing the dishes. She knew Jodi was reluctant to let her, but she couldn’t let the other woman do all the work on her own. If she was going to share food with her, then Valhalla was going to help alleviate some of the stress.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Valhalla scrubbing at a bowl and Jodi checking on the dish in the oven before she broke the silence.

“You are good with children.”

“I suppose,” Valhalla hummed, lifting the bowl up to see if there was any spots she had missed. “I am the eldest of ten. It helps.”

“ _Ten?!_ ” Valhalla blinked, turning her attention over to Jodi, who was staring at her as if she had just descended from the stars. “It’s difficult with two children on my own! Your poor mother…”

“No need to give her pity,” Valhalla replied, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “She always says she loved every second of it. _Op-_ Father certainly couldn’t tell her no. No one could, to be honest.”

The smile faded at the thought, the bowl tipping back into the sink and clunking against the metal bottom with slightly more force of gravity than intended.

Jodi was quiet for a moment, as if she could feel the change in thought and mood.

“Do you…ever see your family? If you don’t mind me asking.” Her words were tentative, hesitant in their inquiry, and Valhalla merely gave the sink a wane smile as she put her hands back to work.

“Haven’t seen anyone aside my mother since… well…”

Valhalla trailed off, a lump forming in her throat that she quickly swallowed down.

“It’s been five years since we’ve been all together. Now, we never will.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look up, turning the tap off as she let a few of the dishes to soak in warm water. Valhalla was fortunate to hear the sound of shuffling, her ears perking slightly as she turned her head.

It was Sam, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he stood almost awkwardly in the invisible divide between living room and dining room.

“Uh… hey?”

“Sam, can you please set the table?” Jodi asked, not even turning around as she busied herself with her chore. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Oh… yeah… sure.”

The young man gave Valhalla an unreadable look before he continued his shuffling into the kitchen, his shoulders holding a tenseness in them even as Vincent came hopping out of his room, crying out that he wanted to help and took an entire fistful of silverware from a drawer, causing Sam to let out a huff of a laugh at all the spoons but no forks the younger boy had acquired.

Dinner itself was oddly subdued, although very good. Vincent did most of the talking, kicking his feet against his chair as he talked about his day and whatever plans he and Jas had come up for the summer. Jodi asked a few things about Sam’s own day, to which he said it was fine and that was that. It appeared to be a common occurrence, as Jodi didn’t press further.

Still, by the time dinner was eaten, leftovers put away, dishes done and Vincent sent off to get ready for bed yawning and rubbing at his eyes, Valhalla hadn’t said much, and neither did the older two.

They did have a comfy couch, though, Valhalla had to admit as Sam distracted himself with some sort of handheld device in a recliner, although it was clear it was simply a front.

“Dad’s coming home soon.”

Valhalla blinked, her eyes turning from the bedroom door where Jodi went to tuck Vincent in to Sam.

“That is good. Has he been gone long?”

“Since the war started.” The way Sam said “war”, it was clear he didn’t care much for it, the device he had been playing with being set onto his lap. “He came back every once in a while for leave, but nothing longer than a week, and, well…”

“He went missing a few months ago.” Sam jerked in his seat in surprise as Jodi spoke up, the door to Vincent’s room shut behind her. She worried her lower lip as she approached and settled onto the edge of a nearby chair, looking decidedly anywhere but at Valhalla. “His unit captured. They… we didn’t know if he was ever coming back.”

“ _Back alive”_ went unsaid, but Valhalla understood all too well. She knew what the purpose of the invitation to dinner was now.

“You wish to know about what to expect,” she murmured, leaning back against the couch even as Jodi flinched slightly. She gave the woman a gentle smile in hopes to ease her worry, although she couldn’t get it to be as warm as she wanted to.

“I understand your reasons. You are worried, and you have all right to be, and I suppose I am the closest you can get for real answers.”

Valhalla let out a full-body sigh, her hands rising to scrub at her face. This was going to be a very long, tiring talk.

“Do you know why the war between Gotoro and Ferngill started?”

Sam and Jodi glanced at each other, before Sam decided to speak up for them.

“It’s because they are repressing the people and took over Marshlaw without any provocation. Everyone knows that.”

“Marshlaw?” Valhalla gave Sam an incredulous look before shaking her head. “Is that what you are told? Then there is much I need to tell you. And please-“ she raised a hand in gentle gesture as Sam opened his mouth to speak. “I wish to get through this without distraction, or I may never finish.”

Jodi reached over to place a hand on Sam’s knee, and Valhalla took the moment to collect herself and her thoughts, steeling herself from her emotions in order to get through this.

“Marshlaw was the last of many, many nations that was forcibly taken into Gotoro’s control. It was also the biggest, the richest in resources, and the most populated- and an ally and trader to Ferngill. Before that, there were many tiny nations that were pulled under the Empire’s greater power, starting over ten years ago. Klo was taken just five years ago, under the guise of diplomacy and instead murdered the heads of our land and strung them up like fish set to dry. There was no warning, and the Empire said they owned us now. Owned, like we were part of their property.

“We fought back. We were one of the few nations that did so openly. The others were so integrated into the Empire prior through other means that they simply accepted their fate. Others had small bands of rebels, but they couldn’t do much. But us Kloians? We fought to the death. We turned to Ferngill before their involvement for aid. And we… were turned away.”

Valhalla felt a wane smile creep into the corners of her lips as she continued.

“And then Marshlaw happened. It was all but a year into our own plight, and Gotoro became too greedy. Marshlaw is rich in gold, rare outside of Ferngill proper. The Empire wanted it, so they took it. Of course, Ferngill was their main trader, and so the Republic decided that wouldn’t do. War is never about the people- it is about the money and profit of resources, and while the other nations had resources, they weren’t in open trades with Ferngill, so they cared little about us. But when they began to enslave Marshlaw and force them to mine gold for the Empire, naturally Ferngill couldn’t let that happen.

So the war happened. Ferngill troops came pouring in, and Klo went to aid them. I was one of the first to assist the Republic.”

She fell quiet for a moment, folding her hands into her lap to help distill some of the pain that rang through her heart.

“War makes good people do terrible things. Your father- your husband- may have gone in with good intentions in mind. Most do, fed information that they were helping the poor people. Sounds better than going in to fight over a precious metal or a luxury. Never is, and so you get good people with blood on their hands and not knowing how to live on with that. And Gotoro makes it hard to live with yourself.”

Her eyes glanced up over at Sam, taking in his pale expression briefly before looking away.

“They have soldiers younger than you are. Children, practically. And sometimes… you have no other choice…”

Valhalla let her head drop into her hands, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes as the familiar burn of salt prickled against her vision.

“And that’s before you get into the work camps.” She knew she was rambling, her voice hitching a little, but now that she was talking, she couldn’t stop herself. “They have children younger than Vincent there, working alongside elders who can barely move. We work and work until you collapse, and then they simply throw you into a hole to rot- whether you are alive or not. Prisoners of war are treated just the same as the people the Empire had taken over, if not worse. I managed to escape after a month, but it was enough to leave its mark both on my body and on my mind. I cannot imagine what condition he will be in when he returns. It will be difficult. He will not be the same. War rots your heart, but you can live through it. You just need to be patient with him, even if you do not understand fully what he’s been through. He may not tell you all of it- he may not tell you any of it- but please, know that he is trying his best with what little of himself he has left.”

Valhalla knew right then and there she couldn’t stay a second longer. She rose to her feet, not hearing the concerned voice of Jodi as she blindly ambled to the door, stepping out into the rain. She managed to get past the fence line of town before the sound of feet on wet pavement caught up to her, the blurry image of Sam beside her as he gripped her arm.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper out to him, the tears hot on her face in comparison to that of the cool rain. “That is too much-“

Arms wrapped around her neck, bending her downward as Sam pulled her closer to his level into a hug.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled against her shoulder, his voice slightly hoarse. “Just…”

His words trailed off, the apology left unsaid, but Valhalla curled her arms around him all the same.

“Just love your father regardless of what happened to him,” she told him quietly. “Please, love him. The Empire took mine, but you still have a chance with yours. Take it for all its worth, even if it is difficult.”

And that was all she could say, and Sam said nothing else, but both their grips tightened as the rain continued to pour down on them and soak through their clothes, although that too went unnoticed. And while the topic of the evening’s discussion ended on such a sad note, it was a turning point for both Jodi’s family and Valhalla, to admit one thought wrongly of another and the other admitting to the heartaches she had been carrying with her throughout the years in silence.

In time, perhaps both would continue to learn from each other and begin to heal from their own hurts and heartaches. And, perhaps, they would all begin to understand that regardless of their origins, of wars and troubles, that they were simply good people trying to get by, just like everyone else.


	16. Brew of the Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer has finally arrived! Valhalla bumps into Rasmodius and gets more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the last chapter! I know it was sad, but it was something that had to be addressed! Thank you for the comments and kudos regardless! c: 
> 
> This chapter's a bit better, I promise! And we brush on actual canon storyline once again, yaaay. 
> 
> Warnings: Please don't drink mysterious potions. You'll get sick.
> 
> EDIT: God I am so sorry Magical_Trevor for missing your comment! (I was kinda posting this chapter while you posted your comment, whoops). But I'm glad you are enjoying this story! And thank you Monatae for sharing it! I'm glad you enjoy it enough to share it with others! <3

Summer arrived with a bang one morning as the wind patterns shifted, bringing in hot, humid air into the Valley. Demetrius had rambled on and on about the migrations of exotic birds during his time of setting up an experiment in a nearby cave on the farm, making boxes for wild, native species of mushrooms to grow. Apparently a variety of parrots came visiting, as well as a multitude of fish from the tropics as warm waters cycled through, although she hadn’t seen any. It was still very early in the season, perhaps they would come in a few days.

Valhalla wasn’t a stranger to the heat, as Klo was relatively hot and dry, but the humidity was new. It made her clothes stick to her skin as soon as she stepped out of the front door, sweat dripping down her face and arms as she uprooted her withering crops.

She now understood why they had different crop rotations for the seasons. While the spring plants thrived in wet, mild weather, they couldn’t survive the vicious rays of the sun and the spike in temperatures. Perhaps if she had the greenhouse set up, she could grow them all year, but for now all she could do was tromp back into town to get seed for melon, tomatoes, various flowers, cabbages, peppers, and three blueberry shrubs that she planted behind the farmhouse since they would simply produce more the following year.

The afternoon sun beat down upon her as Valhalla finished the last of the planting and watering, her hands and knees caked in soil and neck glistening with sweat. She turned the watering can up over her head, letting out a sigh of relief as the cool water dripped through her hair and down her neck. She wasn’t particularly liking the stickiness of the humidity, but she assured herself that she could get over it.

Her eyes glanced over towards the house, letting out a small laugh as Agrion laid, plopped down in the shade of the porch. He was positively soaked after coming out of the woods dripping from a plunge into the creek, tongue lolled out of his mouth as the wolf tried to continue to cool himself down. He seemed pretty content where he was, even if he still wouldn’t let Valhalla close enough to perhaps brush some of the loose, shedding fur from his coat.

Perhaps he would enjoy the block of ice she had been freezing, except that he was blocking the entirety of her front door. Persuasion would be in order to get around him to give him some sort of treat for being so good for the past few weeks.

She was still considering her options when Agrion’s head lifted, ears flattening as a warning growl rumbled from his throat, teeth bared. Valhalla felt a prickling on the back of her neck as she snapped her head around, finding the familiar dark and purple hues of Rasmodius standing just within the tree line.

“Hello!” Valhalla called out to him, lifting a hand to wave at the wizard. “Oh, hush, Agrion. He’s a friend.”

The wolf’s growling lessened, but his teeth were still bared. Ah well, at least he wasn’t ready to maul the poor man. Valhalla brushed the dirt from her hands onto her clothes before stepping out of the crops, moving closer towards Rasmodius since he appeared to have decided it was safer to remain away. Probably for the best- Agrion didn’t seem to care much for the man, either because he was a stranger or that his scent wasn’t welcoming to the Timber Terror.

“Interesting… companion,” was what Rasmodius said first to Valhalla when she came close enough, his eyes gazing over at the wolf for several more seconds before flitting to her as Valhalla shrugged.

“He’s a good boy.”

“Hmn.” Rasmodius gave Agrion one last glance before turning away. “Come walk with me.”

There was something in his tone that said that he meant business, something important, and Valhalla didn’t have anything else to do that evening, so she gladly went along after him through the footpaths that led towards the southern entrance of the farm.

“Do you remember of the spirits that were with you when we last spoke?” the wizard asked after several minutes of walking in silence other than the crunch of gravel and twigs.

Valhalla made a face, brows scrunching slightly at the memory. “I… remember some colorful blobs that made some weird sounds,” she replied slowly, confusion lacing her voice. “I’ll admit, I don’t quite remember much of that day. I was a bit of a mess.”

Rasmodius glanced over at her, his eyes holding something that she likened to soft understanding. Valhalla made a point to look away, scuffing her sandal against the path as they left the fenced boundaries of the farm and heading further southward towards the forest. She didn’t like remembering the times she let her emotions get away from her, especially in front of people. She had been fortunate it had only been Rasmodius, Jodi, and Sam so far, and while Lewis knew of her quick to the punch when startled, he had yet to see her break down. She wasn’t sure where she stood with them as of yet- better than it was, but there was still awkwardness between them. At least Jodi gives her a greeting whenever they bumped into each other in town now, and Sam doesn’t stare her down before running off like he used to, so Valhalla took it as an improvement.

Rasmodius though, she was more sure of where she stood. Regardless of what the other townsfolk thought of the man, Valhalla quite liked the wizard. The few times they have spoken, Valhalla felt as if she had gotten a good read of him, despite the fact that his emotions were typically well under wraps. He had an air of somewhat hidden concern for her, but also a strange sense of respect and kindness on her behalf. Abigail told her once that he was a bit of recluse, didn’t like to be bothered, but so far Rasmodius had spent more time seeking her out than she had of him.

There were times, though, that she was sure the man knew more than he let on, a bit like Gunther did, only on a grander scale. He hadn’t mentioned anything about it, but he was a man of magic. Perhaps there was some sort of clairvoyance in his blood. Still, there were times where he would stare through her, or have a look on his face that didn’t match whatever conversation they were having, lost in his own head and staring off into space. Valhalla let him be until he shook himself out of it, not wanting to disturb whatever it was the man was thinking about.

Perhaps both men were mystics. Funny, though, considering how neither of them mentioned each other, or even said anything of ever meeting. Then again, Valhalla didn’t pry. It wasn’t her place.

“The Junimos- the spirits that were with you in the Community Center-“

“The what?”

“The building I found you in, just north of the square.” Now he gave her a pointed look that told her not to interrupt. Valhalla made the motion of sealing her lips with her fingers. “In any case, the Junimos are nature spirits, and they have taken quite an interest in you, and wish to speak with you.”

Valhalla frowned at Rasmodius, confusion written across her features as they stepped out of the trees and onto the small path that led up to the steps of his tower, the brickwork covered in winding vines just starting to flower and soft moss.

“Why would they like to speak with me? I have done nothing of interest.” She and Robin had only been cutting down the trees they needed, and nature was well intended on taking the cleared space back over with wild grasses and shrubs. Other than that, she had been growing crops, making sure her new apiary was doing well, slowly working with Agrion, and breaking rocks. Other than that, she hadn’t been doing anything that would attract any spirit’s attention, even if she had been leaving things out on the offering plate.

“The Junimos refuse to speak with me outside of that request,” Rasmodius replied, sounding a bit miffed at the thought that anything magical willingly chose to ignore him. “But the problem lies in your understanding of them.”

He stepped up to the door, the lock clicking with a simple wave of his hand before he walked through, almost as if he hadn’t even thought about his actions. Valhalla tried not to boggle over the quick scene as she carefully stepped after him.

She had never been into the tower before, as Rasmodius tended to seek her out at her own home. Yet it was almost parallel to what she imagined it would be. A large cauldron bubbled in the hearth, tables and bookshelves lined with tomes and scrolls, plants and herbs hanging to dry in the rafters with random arrays etched onto the stone floor in chalk. There was so much to take in that the door closing behind her with a thud jolted her, her head snapping around before she realized what it was and swallowed her heart back down into her chest.

Rasmodius didn’t seem to notice, too busy shuffling through the papers on one of the many tables.

“Here- tell me if this makes sense to you.”

It was a golden scroll. Not just the color of gold, but possibly _actual_ gold despite the texture of almost smooth parchment. Yet it felt almost entirely different from the metal that Ferngill minted their coins with. It felt… warm… _ethereal_ , sending a strange sensation up her hands and arms that had the hair on the back of her arms rising. It was delicate, thin, but surprisingly strong despite its brittle appearance, the design of a branching tree almost like a watermark on its surface. Strange symbols stood out to her, bright and bold upon the fragile paper’s surface, pretty, but illegible to her, far more so than Ferngill’s own language now.

“No? What does it say?” Valhalla found herself a little breathless, and blinked when Rasmodius carefully took the scroll from her grip, the loss of contact leaving a chill she didn’t know was present on her fingers.

“They wished to help you, help the town, put together the Community Center,” the wizard explained, setting the scroll down onto the table again. “But only one who is one with nature can read their requests. I am working on that.”

He stroked the whiskers on his skin absently, losing himself in thought. Valhalla was a little out of her depth, and so let the man pace and mumble to himself as she tried to piece together what exactly was going on.

There were nature spirits who… wanted to help her? Wanted her help? She wasn’t really sure why, but she wasn’t going to turn down a spirit’s request. She did, after all, barge into their home and possibly caused them distress. The least she could do was pay them back for disturbing them, and perhaps speak to Lewis to learn more about the Community Center that most of everyone else had yet to mention to her. In her vaguest memoires of passing the overgrown, worn down building, perhaps they didn’t want to speak upon the past. It looked like it had once been a magnificent building, when the town had been much more prosperous than it was now. A testament of changing times, and no one wished to acknowledge it.

Well, if these Junimos wanted to repair it, then she wasn’t going to tell them no.

“I got it!”

Valhalla stared at Rasmodius, who had stopped in front of the hearth, staring at the cauldron that was steaming a sickly green. The man was positively _grinning_ , delighted in finding his discovery, and while she normally would’ve marveled at the look upon the previously serious face, Valhalla had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to like whatever idea he had just come up with, even more so when the man grabbed a massive mug and dipped it into the contents of the cauldron, still smiling like the a devil finding the perfect candidate to torture.

“This contains the very essence of the forest!” The mug was hot when the wizard pushed it into her hands. “To become one with nature, with the forest, you must _consume_ the forest.”

“…Are you sure?” Valhalla didn’t want to question the wizard, but this… substance… looked like something she really should be questioning. It was more sludge than liquid, clumps of what looked like mushroom chunks and other mysterious shapes lurking in its depths. And it smelled a bit like an old sewer she had to crawl through during one of her solo missions in Gotoro.

“Oh, it won’t kill you,” Rasmodius was quick to clear, giving Valhalla a careful pat on the arm. “The worst that’ll happen is a bit of a bad taste in your mouth, I am sure. Now, drink up!”

“You… are a very mad man,” Valhalla decided she had to tell him, giving the mug one last look as she steeled herself. Well, better get it over with.

Even with drinking it as fast as she could, Valhalla almost gagged at the questionable lumps and sliminess of it. It was like she had swallowed swamp water consisting mostly of algae and water skimmers that had been boiled for an hour and sat to congeal. It was _putrid_.

“What is _in_ this?” she gagged, quickly passing the mug over to Rasmodius before she dropped it. She cursed in her native tongue, smacking her tongue to the roof of her mouth and scrubbing it against her teeth in an attempt to rid of the horrible taste.

“It’s just mushrooms, some dandelion leaves, a few berries, ground acorns, some Western Butterfly cocoons- empty, of course-“ the wizard prattled seemingly in his element, much like Virgil when he got onto a topic that he knew, becoming excited and talkative even as Rasmodius went to set the mug down to wash. “Do you feel anything yet?”

“I feel nothing but my tongue protesting,” Valhalla grumbled. “Why? Should I-?”

It was as if she had been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. Everything blurred and tipped sideways, a strangled gasp the only thing leaving her mouth. Her legs seemed to have given out on her, although she wasn’t quite sure when, only noticing when she fell heavily into the panicked, reaching arms of Rasmodius before she fell face first into the floor, the mug crashing onto the stone instead.

The wizard couldn’t hold her up under her weight, sinking down with her carefully to the floor as she wheezed. She could only see the blur of purple and black above her, the fingers brushing her bangs from her eyes and the soft murmuring of something incoherent before her eyes rolled up into her head.

* * *

 

_The sound of wind through leaves stirred her from her sleep. Odd- she didn’t remember leaving a window open. Slowly she cracked her eyes open, her body stiff and nonresponsive as her vision slowly focused._

_Branches spiraled above her, lacing together in the thick trees that rose to the heavens. Fragile, golden leaves swayed in the breeze, their shapes unfamiliar to her. Everything in her vision was a hue of yellows and browns, gentle and soft and warm, even if she couldn’t move her head or the rest of her body._

_Valhalla felt… content. At peace. Here, everything seemed so open and stripped bare for all to see, yet at the same time so very far away- the war, her sorrows, her hidden aches. But somehow, it didn’t bother her like it should, that they were so open and yet so distant from her. They were there, yes, but something about the quiet breeze through the trees and the shaking of the leaves above her put her at ease._

_She didn’t know how she got here, not remembering falling asleep in a forest, or anywhere at all for that matter, but she hadn’t felt so at home in so long… she didn’t want it to end._

_She could almost feel the very ground beneath her sigh, like a great beast that trees grew upon. Roots coiled slowly around her, gentle and kind, even as the trees themselves whispered to her in a language she couldn’t comprehend. They curled and pulled her closer, their collective voice soft and old and caring as Valhalla closed her eyes as they tucked her into the warmth of their embrace, soothing over the worries and scars of her heart and soul with gentle caresses and the delicate song only trees could make._

_They understood her sorrow, shared with her in her hurt, and that they would take care of her, that everything will be all right. And she believed them, and let her worries drift from her grasp._

_Cradled in the kind roots of the old whispering trees, Valhalla let herself sink back into the darkness once more, lulled in the safety and care the ancient beings provided._

* * *

 

Valhalla awoke to her body lurching, bile in her throat as she turned over and vomited into something that was shoved before her at the last moment. Her blood buzzed in her veins, her head drunkenly sunk into a haze of likeness of being far too deep into the bottle of the strongest ale she could buy well back into her youth. A warm hand rubbed her back below her shoulders as she heaved into the container in front of her.

She wasn’t quite sure where she was, or how she got there, but hands pushed her back to laying on her side onto something soft and smelling of strange herbs. Valhalla felt herself blink, one eye at a time, her vision as hazy as her head as she vaguely focused on a familiar shape of Rasmodius, hat off and hair swept back as he knelt before her, putting a hand to her cheek.

“ _Sands,_ you got a lot of hair,” she slurred out, staring at the dark purple smudge. It was a bit like a mane, wild and slightly curled at the ends.

Valhalla found herself in a mixture of giggling and hiccupping.

“I think I may have given you a bit too much of a dose in my excitement,” Rasmodius murmured, his voice thick with apology and concern as his fingers brushed back the hair that was sticking to her forehead. Was she sweating? Huh.

“Mmm, think I could get you excited real fast. I got some nifty fingers and silky tongue, so I’ve been told.”

The slight choking on his breath caused Valhalla to giggle all over again, before her own breath hitched as she leaned her head over and heaved into the bucket on the floor beside the couch for the second time.

“I think you should wait on doing anything until you’re better,” Rasmodius muttered, helping her back up onto the furniture before she slid face first into the bucket.

“Pro’ly for the best.”

Valhalla pressed her cheek against the cushion and let out a deep sigh, a low grumbling coming out of the sound as Rasmodius smoothed her hair back again. She half wanted to tell him to stop, not wanting her hair being touched- only very close, trusted friend and family could touch- but also really missed the soothing, gentle contact. So instead Valhalla ended up saying nothing, her eyes drifting half shut.

“Rasmo?”

“Rasmodius,” the wizard corrected.

“Rasmo… do magic have… things… so you just stare at it instead? Like… you gotta?”

She didn’t know why she asked. It was just a nagging thought that had plagued her since the Flower Dance, but she never had been willing to say it out loud. Oh well, guess this possibly-drunken Valhalla just really wanted to ask. Or hear herself talk. She did that sometimes. And flirt. And get into fights. Or both. Punch them and then kiss them better. Mother always said she was trouble- like mother like daughter. When was the last time she got thoroughly sloshed again?

“A compulsion charm?” Rasmodius’ fingers paused in their work, but she didn’t seem to notice, her loose train of thought getting back onto the rails of the most current inquiry. “Such things exists, but they can be dangerous… why do you ask?”

“Hmm…. Just… Gunther got these glasses. Never see his eyes, focus on these blue glasses a lot… Don’t know why- bet he got pretty eyes.” She mumbled something that she was half sure was in her own tongue, struggling to remember how to speak outside her native language. This cushion smelled really nice, she just noticed.

“You are… speaking of the librarian?”

“Mhm. Real pretty. Lots of blue. _Sands_ , everyone’s so pretty…”

Valhalla could feel herself dozing back off again while she spoke, her words slurring and mumbling to the point where it was entirely incoherent. Still, she felt the hand on her cheek for a brief moment before the warmth beside her rose, whispering to her about getting some sleep while he went to check up on something.

Sleep sounded absolutely _heavenly_ , come to think of it. She’d do just that…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are in the works! >;3
> 
> Now, I have a bit of a conundrum. I half want to keep this story strictly on Valhalla's point of view, but at the same time I want to do a bit of an intermission with Rasmodius, but I don't know if that is too soon to show some of the cards in my hand or not, but I don't know. I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter!


	17. Morning Aches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla wakes up from her mishap with the brew. The Junimos make another appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! As requested, I will keep going with what I have been doing in terms of point of view. Perhaps at some point after more detail comes to light, I will make a stand-alone piece for what happens between last chapter and this one, but we'll see!
> 
> I think for the next few chapters, I will start exploring some of the other characters that I have yet to get to yet. Chapter 17 and I have yet to introduce Willy and Maru, have no concrete interactions with Elliot, Leah, Haley, Alex, Emily, and Harvey, and I really need to check back up on Clint and Shane. There are most likely others, but I believe this is where I will start heading towards for the summer season. 
> 
> Also a bit of a note: I currently am job hunting and school starts back up next week. So don't be surprised if updates begin to lag behind. 
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

Valhalla awoke with the worst headache she had since she got knocked over the head with a cast iron skillet in the war. She felt as if she was massively hungover, something she hadn’t done since about three years before the war ever began, even paired with the awful taste in her mouth.

Slowly, she cracked her eyes open, taking a moment of blinking to focus her sight to what was around her. The beams of hanging herbs threw her off for a second, vague snippets of the night before dragging its way through the throbbing haze. The room itself was distantly similar, but it had lacked the magical contraptions and circles like the one in her hazy memory did. Perhaps she was simply on a different floor?

Valhalla decided to close her eyes again, reaching up to press the heels of her palms to them as if in vain hope to smother the headache away by compressing her eyelids to her skull. It didn’t, but at least the deprivation of one sense allowed her to focus on the others that wouldn’t be so horribly stingy.

There was water running somewhere nearby, or at least someone pouring water out over something and into a basin. The thought of water made Valhalla realize how dry her lips were and how scratchy her throat was, and the mere sound of it put enough grudging determination in her blood to lower her hand from her eyes and dare herself to move.

Her body, all things considered, didn’t hurt nearly as much as her head, as even the slowest of movements she did to sit up and put her feet onto the floor caused what felt like her entire brain to slosh sideways. It took a moment, eyes closed and hands to them for things to right themselves. By the time she had lowered her hands again, the water had stopped, and taking a second to refocus her eyes, her gaze settled onto the familiar form of Rasmodius.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The man approached closer, setting a glass of water into her reaching hands as soon as she saw it. “How are you feeling?”

“Terribly hungover,” Valhalla mumbled into the glass as she took a sip, barely restaining herself from tipping the entire contents of the glass into her mouth. She wasn’t going to make herself possibly sick again, no thank you. “Nothing hurts much aside from my head, so I don’t think I’ve gotten too carried away. Don’t remember much, though.”

Rasmodius settled onto a stool, a hand on his right forearm as if he was hiding, but Valhalla couldn’t quite see why, considering the sleeves of his robes covered up to his wrists. His brows were knitted in a concerned look, though, so she decided to try to focus on that.

“What do you remember?”

Valhalla’s own eyebrows scrunched together, lowering the glass to her lap as her fingers tapped against it gently while she tried to wade through the haze of her mind.

“You were telling me about the Junimos,” she began slowly. “Then I… did something… had some weird dreams about trees, I think, but I don’t...” She trailed off, letting out a soft breath as she shook her head. “Everything’s a bit mixed.”

Rasmodius let out a long sigh, reaching up with his left hand to lift his hat up enough to card his fingers through the tangles of purple hair.

“I had given you a potion so that you could understand the Junimos, at least in part of their written language,” he began, his voice soft and full of regret. “I admit, I had gotten too excited over what needed to be done, that I had given you far too much of a dose. It had… almost immediate effects. I… believe it may have been dire if it had not been for your size.”

“Oh.” Valhalla fell silent, trying to process the information given to her. “So… I had alcohol poisoning? Or close to it?” She thought that was the right term for it, and with the thoughtful nod from Rasmodius, it was as close to a description as she could get. A language potion that caused intoxication- magic was certainly strange indeed.

“Well, I suppose I’ve done worse.” Valhalla reached over, giving the wizard a gentle pat on the arm, frowning when she felt his muscle tense and flinch slightly under her touch, not so subtly pulling his right arm out of reach. Did he hurt himself?

“But, I guess if it worked in the end, everything will be fine, yes?” she added, trying not to stare too prominently at his possibly injured arm.

“I suppose.” Rasmodius didn’t seem all too convinced, worry still creased in his brow even as he rose to his feet. He went over to the nearby table, the golden parchment he came back with bringing forth a tickling feeling of familiarity in the back of Valhalla’s mind as she set the glass down onto the floor to take the offering.

The strange symbols stood out to her from the page, but somehow, Valhalla knew what they meant. She ran her fingers over the parchment, awe etching across her features as she read over the small missive.

“They have such beautiful writing,” she couldn’t help but murmur, smoothing her thumbs over the smooth surface. “And I can read it! Can you do this for all languages?”

“I don’t recommend trying to find shortcuts for languages. This is the only exemption.”

“Ah well. For the best.” She didn’t particularly want to repeat whatever it was she had gone through, even if it would make learning so much easier for her. No matter, she would simply have to put in the hard work in effort that she was raised to have for anything she set her mind to.

Valhalla noticed, yet again, about Rasmodius’ arm as he took the parchment back carefully with his left, seeming to avoid any unnecessary pulls with his right. She watched, gaze furrowed in concern. He definitely had some sort of injury to it, but what?

Picking the glass up from the floor, Valhalla felt well, or, well-er, enough to finish the rest of the water and slowly test her weight as she stood. Her head wasn’t spinning as much, down to a more manageable throb of her heartbeat than the constant dizzying pain.

“Where do you want me to put this glass?” she asked, hesitating for a moment as she held the glass awkwardly in her hand. She couldn’t quite see a sink where she was, but perhaps it was hidden around a corner or something. The couch was also oddly familiar, now that she took a good look at it standing up. It was almost the exact same one that she had in her own home, only this one had several patches and holes in its cushions and, in general, in poorer condition.

“I can take care of it,” Rasmodius replied, moving back to her once again as soon as the ethereal parchment was put away. With his left, he took the glass from her grip, but as soon as he tried to turn around, Valhalla used her free hand to take hold of his right.

The wizard froze, muscles tensing under her grip.

“Please, let go, Jahangir.”

“You are hurt.” Valhalla gave him a stern look, one she used to give her younger siblings when she caught them doing something they shouldn’t be, or knew they were trying to hide something. His own expression was a bit taken-aback by her seriousness, and so Valhalla used this offset to continue. Slowly, she lifted his arm up, her grip firm around his hand as the sleeve feel back on its own from the angle of his arm.

At first, Valhalla thought it was a bite mark, instantly worrying that Rasmodius had somehow got caught up in Agrion’s jaws, but the punctures on his forearm were too few and patterned too differently to be teeth of any sort. They were almost in the same formation as if someone had grabbed him by the arm, but instead of fingernails digging into his flesh, it was sharp claws or talons of a sort. It was the only conclusion she could come up with.

She was pretty sure he didn’t have this last night, so when in the world did he get hurt by…whatever it was that grabbed him?

“Did you clean it?” was Valhalla’s first question instead, which caused flicker of something unreadable across Rasmodius’ face before he settled it down to his usual serious glower, if not a bit more intense since she was still holding onto him.

“Of course I did,” he grumbled. “It’ll heal in a few days.”

Valhalla peered at the wounds a few more seconds before deeming him well enough to let go, gently lowering his hand before letting her fingers slip away. She wasn’t as apt to healing as her one sister was, but she knew enough to feel comfortable enough to judge wounds. These ones seemed clean enough, no signs of infection yet. And the wounds themselves appeared smooth enough, no jagged drag marks or other scrapes.

“Where did you get it from?” she asked, watching Rasmodius turn on his heel and head around a doorway as soon as she had let go. “I…don’t remember you having it before.”

“Got into a bit of a misunderstanding,” he stated, his tone clipped and curt. “Nothing to worry about.”

Valhalla sighed, but decided to drop it. She had bothered him enough, and even after him taking care of her, no less.

“Just take care of it, okay?” She ran her fingers through her hair as a sigh left her lips. She was concerned for him, the holes in her memory not helping. She honestly didn’t know what time it was now, so Rasmodius could’ve gotten his injuries hours ago, and she wouldn’t have ever known. But she had pressed, stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, and naturally she would get snipped at.

Rasmodius was a private man, he most definitely didn’t like her prying into his business. And most people were sensitive about their injuries, wanting to keep them from others. Valhalla herself fell into that category, but she was better at hiding things, better at pretending that things were okay even if they weren’t, first for the sake of her family, then to simply fool herself.

A soft touch to her bicep caused her to jerk, restraining herself from reacting further than her eyes darting from the wall she had zoned out on to Rasmodius’ face, his eyes gazing over her face with regret and mild oncern.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, removing his hand from her arm. “I meant not to snap.”

“I deserved it. Should not have been nosy,” Valhalla murmured in response, giving him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “All is well.”

Rasmodius looked ready to dispute, but he closed his mouth after a few seconds with a sigh. There was nothing more to be said. They both had their faults, but in Valhalla’s eyes, it was all taken care of. Or, so she told herself.

There was a muffled sound of something heavy hitting the floor below them, jerking them both of the pensive silence that had developed between them. Rasmodius was already halfway across the room and down a staircase that Valhalla hadn’t noticed before by the time she got her own feet to move, following the mage down the steps.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to stare at the ground floor with bewildered eyes. The entire space was filled with colorful semi-translucent creatures, emitting otherworldly sounds that were endearing to the ear and sent the hairs on the back of her neck on the rise.

It seemed that a bright orange one had knocked a bottle of some sort of liquid off a high shelf, its tiny arms drooped as it made a sad little whine at the mess it made. There were others tumbling and bouncing away from the growing spill on the floor, warbling to each other in their own tongue. There were ones that were climbing on top of each other to reach the higher surfaces, tumbling through the papers and leaving tiny inked footprints across the covers of books as they trotted through a splatter of ink. One was half drenched in the black liquid like a partially candied apple, its light green coloring only visible towards the bottom of its strange shape.

“Oh, for heavens’ sake!” Rasmodius cried out, exasperated, small colorful creatures bumping and tumbling away from his boots as he made his way through the room. The prickling crept down her spine as the broken glass on the floor floated upward and pieced itself together before settling down back onto the shelf while the wizard went to grab the small one that had caused the damage in the first place. It disappeared, his fingers scooping through thin air, and Valhalla felt a weight on her shoulder and a tiny little resonating burble that caused her ear to twitch.

“ _Hello little one,”_ she murmured with a soft chuckle, reaching up to take the creature from her shoulder. It didn’t disappear, and the small orange creature was now in the palm of her hand. Up close, they looked like a cross between an apple and a cherry, with small spindly legs and arms. It even had a small antennae or stem with a tiny leaf on it, quivering and shifting in tandem with her own heartbeat. This one seemed smaller than the ones that were now huddled by her feet, happily warbling and attempting to climb up her pantleg, their tiny feet and hand tickling against her skin as they walked across her bare feet.

“Are these the Junimos?”

At the resounding chorus of cries from the creatures that drowned out Rasmodius’ reply, Valhalla knew she had the answer she needed, her smile turning down towards the orange one in her hand.

“They are becoming a _nuisance_ ,” Rasmodius grumbled, pointedly ignoring a sunflower yellow spirit that was sitting with its legs dangling off the brim of his hat.

“I think they’re cute,” Valhalla rebutted, gently stroking a finger against the little orange one’s side, her smile widening as it seemed to giggle and latch onto her finger with tiny hands. It had a strange, smooth texture, like that sugary, colorful substance that Virgil had bought once- jello, she thought it was called. It was warm, though, a soft ray of sunlight in her hand, and had such a tiny, cute face as it blinked beady eyes up at her.

“No wonder they came to you for help. They can sucker you into doing anything.”

“Oh hush now, Ramsodius. If you keep being a grump you might be in for some hugs to change your mind.”

All at once every eye of the Junimos turned to Rasmodius, who, while his face remained stern, turned a few shades paler under the deep purple whiskers.

Valhalla couldn’t help but laugh, deep and loud as it rumbled through her chest, having to sit down on the step where she tried to remember how to breathe. It was as if she had more say over the Junimos than the wizard did, and that was saying something. Just a simple comment could cause them all to collectively turn and were possibly willing to do what she had said, not that she was going to do so. Her headache seemed to be a distant memory now as she tried and failed to reign herself in, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes with one hand.

“ _You_ , are a mean, cruel woman,” Rasmodius muttered, but there was no heat to his words as Valhalla lifted her head to grin at him.

“I have been called worse,” she replied simply, a crooked grin on her face as she rose to her feet once more. “Alright, little friends. I will help you, but we should leave Rasmodius be. He has had a long night.”

The little Junimos chirped and burbled, and one by one they began to disappear from the room and didn’t reappear elsewhere, some fixing a little of their messes before they left too. The one on Rasmodius’ hat remained, and so did the little orange one in her hand, which she transferred back to her shoulder, where it sat with quiet content. The one covered in ink decided to roll across the loose leafs of paper before popping away, causing the wizard to let out a long sigh.

“There are some spirits that are trouble,” he muttered. “And then there are the Junimos.”

“They seem quite harmless to me,” Valhalla tried to point out.

“Yes, well, you hadn’t been summoning them individually to try to communicate with them. They are mostly benevolent, but they can be little tricksters when they want to be. I am uncertain where I stand at this point.”

Judging from the yellow one that was happily kicking its feet on his hat, Valhalla had to quietly admit that he was most likely not their favorite person, but something they trusted enough and was comfortable enough to bother without any harsh repercussions for their actions. He hadn’t yelled at them or start trying to hurt them, only attempting to move them out of the way and out of trouble.

“Perhaps gift them something. Maybe they will decide to leave you be.” That way, neither of them would accidentally hurt the other, since the Junimos in large groups seemed to be quite a handful if they wanted to be and Rasmodius’ home was filled with who knows what.

They fell in silence once more, Rasmodius fussing over some of the minor damage the spirits had done.

“Thank you. For helping me.”

Rasmodius paused at Valhalla’s murmur, turning to peer at her from under the shadows of his hat.

“There is nothing to thank me for,” was the man’s reply, turning back to shuffle through the stained papers of the desk. “I was simply doing what must be done.”

Valhalla simply smiled, knowing that Rasmodius wouldn’t take any further attempts of gratitude, regardless of the fact that he had it no matter what he claimed. 

“I shall see you around?” Valhalla pressed gently, and Rasmodius merely grunted, too focused in his work. She didn’t have any hard feelings for the lack of response, giving the man a slight bow of her head before she picked her way through the cluttered room and to the front door, shutting it softly behind her.

“ _Well then, little one,”_ she whispered to the orange Junimo, lifting a hand to gently stroke its side, where it made quiet purring gurgle. “ _Let’s go back home.”_


	18. Gone Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla makes some new friends. Willy makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and support! I enjoy writing about both Rasmodius and the Junimos, and I'm glad you think the same!
> 
> As of yesterday afternoon, I have gotten a new job! This has caused me to be a bit inspired to write this chapter. But with both work and school coming up, please know that I will most likely slow down in my updates. 
> 
> This chapter is the first of many to work on meeting up with he rest of the town's residents and flesh out some background with them. Feel free to ask if you wish to see more of a specific character! I have some idea of the next chapter, bringing both Haley and Emily into it, but I have plans for the others too!
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy!

Valhalla’s new little family that shared the borrowed fields of Shalebreak Farm had grown to include a massive non-native wolf and two small Junimo spirits.

Agrion had, by and large, ignored the two spirits that always appeared to come around. He could definitely see them, lifting his head when one or both of them ended up wandering over him and picking strands of shedded fur from his coat, but otherwise deemed them not worth his time.

The little orange spirit was Valhalla’s most common visitor, or rather, rarely left the premises entirely. It liked to ride on her shoulders, burble quietly through the sprouting leaves and vines of tomato plants and melons, and all in all stay in close proximity to her unless she went into town, where it would disappear in the direction of the Community Center.

Valhalla decided to call the little one “Kiraz”, sometimes shortening it to simply “Ki”. It seemed to enjoy the name, always bumbling through the crops on tiny, spindly legs whenever she called it once she was done watering her plants.

The yellow Junimo was a rarer visitor, most likely because it would rather bother Rasmodius than Valhalla. It had taken quite a liking to sitting on Rasmodius’ hat, and she had woken up to find the wizard at her door with the spirit waving cheerfully at her and the man entirely fed up with his new companion.

Utu, as she happily dubbed the Junimo, was definitely a rascal. It always found trouble, always got into places it shouldn’t be, and really liked being in high, dangerous places like being perched precariously on the open door of the upmost cupboard, dangling its legs and chirping without a care in the world. Still, she didn’t have the heart to convince the spirit to leave Rasmodius alone, and she told the wizard that she couldn’t tell any of the Junimos what to do.

That man needed company anyway.

Today, though, Valhalla had no company of neither Utu or Kiraz, or Rasmodius or Agrion. Instead, Valhalla decided that it had rained enough during the night to skip watering and head towards town and the beach that laid beyond.

Sweat was already caking her shirt to her skin, the humidity very high and the early morning sun hot on her shoulders as she ventured through Pelican Town during the sleepy hours, following the hint of salt on the breeze across the bridge and sandals hitting sand instead of cobblestone.

As soon as she broke through the copse of trees that lined the path towards the beach, Valhalla had to take a moment to absorb the cooler sea breeze, carrying with it the cries of gulls and the rolling waves washing onto the sandy shore.

It was peaceful, here on the beach in the warm sunshine, finding herself already pulling her sandals off her feet in order to feel the grains of sand between her toes as she walked towards the pier. A small crustacean scuttled across the sand from behind a small rock, disappearing into the waves at her approach, and she watched it go with a small smile before continuing onto the wooden planks.

The small building erected on the pier was silent, the small windows dark and devoid of life inside. She couldn’t quite remember if it was simply a store, or if someone lived in inside, but she didn’t dawdle for long, instead taking the connecting docks for the furthest one, distant and waters deep.

Valhalla sat down on the edge of the pier, sandals set beside her as she dipped her feet into the water. The water was mild- not too cold, but not hot either- making it the perfect balm for the sun that would soon become blistering once it ascended higher in the sky. And it was remarkably clear too, although it grew very dark perhaps fifty feet off the end of the pier on this end. It was much shallower on the end closest to the little hut, but Valhalla preferred the seeming solitude of being farther away on this side.

A soft song left her lips as she began to sway her feet back and forth in the water, watching the seaweed and colorful fish below her. She hadn’t sung in some time, and when no one else was awake and the sea hopefully drowning out the foreign words, she let herself close her eyes, face turned up towards the sun as she sang the nostalgic lyrics of home.

Something broke the sound of waves flowing past the dock, her song trailing off as she lowered her chin and opened her eyes to look across the water. Valhalla wasn’t sure what it was, but she caught the very end of something slipping back into the water in the deeper section. She closed her eyes again, picking back up where she left off, only to crack her eye open once again after a minute to see something peeking out of the water at her.

It was a deep, dark green, like the shadows of the seaweed that waved gently in the depths. Fish-like, with wide, watery eyes that stared unblinkingly at her. It didn’t rise higher than the bottom of its eyes, bobbing back under the water to perhaps keep its eyes from drying out before emerging back into view once more. She closed her eyes again to pretend she didn’t notice, a small smile working its way onto her lips as the gentle lull of a softer song joined the water that lapped against the posts of the dock.

Another disturbance of the sound of water caused her song to falter, her eyes opening to see the sea creature to hurry back into the water with a noticeable splash. It seemed to have been startled by something, Valhalla noted, and it was quickly confirmed when something farther out to sea broke through the surface of the water, quiet and massive of a near serpentine movement before it too disappeared into the water. It had been too far away, and the light reflecting off the surface of the waves made it difficult for her to pick out exactly it was that she had seen. Whatever it was though, it gave her the impression that it was much more massive than herself.

Valhalla decided to subtly pull her feet up from the water, folding them on the dock instead.

Valhalla hadn’t spent much time to admire the sea during her life. Klo was land-locked, and had the overall climate that varied between savanna and arid desert, absent of large bodies of water. During the war, her efforts mostly stayed within the confinement of the lesser territories of Gotoro proper, most of which also lacked access to the sea. And while she was escaping, she had spent most of her days hidden inside a crate far too small, cramped, and dark in the belly of a ship, first to the Fern Islands, and then sneaking onto another ship heading towards Ferngill. It was during the second trip when she met Virgil, or rather, he had caught her red-handed stealing food from the ship’s galley in the middle of the night during the scarce chances of her getting food to hold her off during the rest of the trip.

A soft smile eased onto her face as she settled her feet back into the water, losing herself in thought. Virgil had all right and chances to turn her in to the authorities, and she would have been right back in the thick of the war if not for the tiny young man. Under all the anxiety and problems he was burdened with, he had a kind heart, and without really knowing her he had reached out to help, despite the fact that he tended to stutter and mumble something awful when addressing strangers, especially one as big as she. But he had given more than she could ever repay him for, and he wasn’t expecting anything in return.

A pang of loneliness settled into her chest, and Valhalla closed her eyes, chin up as she soaked in the sun. Virgil had become a friend to her, despite everything that had happened to her, despite the fact she had been almost feral since losing her father. She cared for him, seeing him as something of a distant nephew regardless of how very different ancestry they possessed. Valhalla always had a heart too big for her in ways of compassion, and this lonely scholar, too small to be hereditary and painfully shy, had a special place in it.

She wondered if her family would approve of her ever adopting him if she was given the chance- before she let out a faint huff of a laugh and shaking her head. Of course they would, if they ever came back together. She was sure her mother would love Virgil, and his mild, but sudden bursts of quality comebacks that came out of the blue mannerisms would endear to everyone else.

But Virgil wasn’t here now, gone off for another research adventure out somewhere else, and would still be gone for at least another month or two. Even then, she wasn’t sure if he would ever bother to come and visit, having school and his research to take care of. She didn’t hold it against him in the least, but she did miss him dearly.

The sound of footsteps on wooden planks drew Valhalla out of her pensive peace, turning her head to peer over her shoulder.

It was a man she didn’t recognize, scruffy around the edges and full beard flecked with bits of grey. His face was weathered, but his shoulders were broad and strong and eyes crinkling at the edges in a kind way as he stopped as soon as she turned to look at him. There was a pole in one hand, a tacklebox in the other.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, gesturing to the bare spot of the dock beside her.

“Certainly!” She scooted over further, patting the space with a hand for the man could join her. He smelled of fish and salt, the scent of ocean almost one and the same with the older man as he set the box down beside him, fixing some bait onto his pole. She watched on with fascination, never ever seeing anyone fish before properly.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, watching the worm writhe on the hook.

“Perhaps,” the man replied, his voice like the grit of sand between her toes, yet warm and gentle as he reeled back and lobbed the bait out into the water with an experienced flick of his wrist. “But it is a necessary evil.”

Valhalla nodded, turning her attention towards the waves, her feet bobbing with the current as she watched the tiny bobber attached to his line dance on the surface of the water.

“I do not know much about fish,” she began, honest intrigue lacing her words. “Is there a… many here?”

“There is quite a variety, yes,” the man filled in for the word she couldn’t place, his voice rumbling in his throat as he let out a low hum. “Each season brings in different fish to both the ocean and its tributaries, mostly for migratory fish. Some remain in the area all year round, but most are only for a season or two.”

Valhalla wasn’t certain what a tributary was, but nodded along all the same.

“What kind of fish can you catch at this time of year?”

The man seemed both surprised and pleased that she was taking genuine interest in what he was doing, and so delved into greater details, answering her questions with a calm patience that perhaps came with waiting for perhaps hours on end for a bite. Valhalla was surprised in her own right as to how much lived in the waterways, from fish to crustaceans to clams and mussels and an array of vegetation- most of which were edible. That soon led to a discussion of seafood dishes, how to properly prepare and cook a fresh catch, and a plethora of other questions.

Valhalla found the whole thing very interesting, and the man- Willy, she had found out- was more than happy to find someone to talk to about his livelihood.

“Not very many are interested in fishing these days,” he admitted to her with a sad sigh. “Pam used to fish quite often when she was still running the bus, but ever since it broke down she has fallen into a bit of a slump. Elliot comes by, but he isn’t one to hurt no creature on his own. The hooks make him squeamish.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” Valhalla replied as she watched Willy pull a hook out of the thin bottom jaw of a fish he claimed far too small to be of use and set it back into the water.

“No, there isn’t,” Willy agreed, baiting his hook once more to throw the line out. “Elliot’s a good lad. Think I could try to convince him to try cab-potting. Hurts them none, and could help him pay rent.”

“I do not know much about him. He does not live here?”

Willy hummed, his own books kicked off and feet in the water. “Came out here to write his book. Thought to find his muse out on the seaside. The place usually was only used a few times a year during the summer by the occasional visitor, but I’m glad someone’s living it for longer to keep up with the maintenance.  Gone for long periods of time out at sea, and Lewis can’t take care of everything on his own.”

“He’s a writer?” Valhalla tried to recall if anyone ever told her that before, but drew a blank. Perhaps it was because she had very minimal contact with the man. “What does he write?”

“Dunno. It’ll be good, though. The lad’s got skill, and he will succeed once he finally gets what he has in his head down on paper. Here- want to give this a try?”

Valhalla perked up, taking the pole from the fisherman’s hands, his own rough and well-used as he laid his over her own, fixing her grip on the handle and showed her how to use the reel properly. Casting it was far harder than Willy made it look, and she snorted out a laugh as she managed to lodge her first attempt right into the seaweed bed only a few feet from the dock.

“You’ll get better in time,” the man consoled her, deciding after the third attempt to simply cast it for her before giving it back. “I got a good bamboo pole you can use if you’d like. Perfect for beginners, and easier to cast out with.”

“I would like that! How much would it cost?”

Willy’s eyes crinkled in good humor, a gravelly laugh bubbling out of his throat. “No cost. It’s old and collecting dust, but it served me well, and I would be happy to see it put back to good use.”

More footsteps on the dock behind them made both Valhalla and Willy turn their heads.

“Hello there,” Elliot smiled at them, his long hair tied back for once but his outfit no less grand, if not a little patched up at the seams with rough stitches. “Pardon the intrusion.”

“No bother at all!” Valhalla beamed at him, moving her sandals as Willy shifted over, giving space between them for the leaner man. “Come join us!”

The author only took a brief hesitance before he too kicked off his shoes, carefully tucking his socks into them and rolling up his pantlegs before settling between the pair of them, his feet dipping into the water.

“Are you hot?” Valhalla asked as soon as he sat down, eyeing his clothes. He was wearing far too many layers, and the tie around his neck looked uncomfortably warm.

“A little,” Elliot admitted. “But nothing I cannot bear, I assure you.”

Valhalla gave him another glance over before wrinkling her nose slightly. “I think I would melt,” she replied, turning her attention back to the bobber out on the waters. “Air’s too thick here. Klo is far drier.”

“I don’t believe you would even get an arm into Elliot’s coat,” Willy stated, giving the frock a glance before flitting it over to Valhalla’s bicep. Elliot had to lift a hand in attempt to stifle a laugh.

“True,” Valhalla hummed. “Don’t think I could get into his pants either.”

That caused both men to splutter, Elliot’s face turning a vibrant pink while Willy slapped the younger man on the back, his laughs booming over the sound of the ocean.

“What?” Valhalla turned to them, her lips quirking in amusement at their laughter, but bewildered all the same. “It’s true!”

That only made Willy laugh harder, the man laying down onto the dock as he pulled his hat over his face, as if that would help him and his bout of hysterics.

“I believe you are misunderstanding the word play,” Elliot tried to explain, even if his shoulders shook with the occasional laugh and his cheeks still painted a pretty hue.

“I do not think there is anything to misunderstand,” Valhalla replied. “My thighs are much too thick, your legs are far too thin, and you are much too young for me, despite how pretty you are and how lovely your hair is.”

Elliot had to hide his face in his hands, the color of his blush turning from pink to as red as his frock, and Willy lost all decorum once again. Trying to hide a grin, Valhalla turned back to the water, her attention quickly diverting as the bobber dipped quickly under the water and the reel began to turn under her neglect as whatever it was on the other end pulled on the line.

“I got something!” she cried out, hopping to her feet. “What do I do?!”

“Reel it in, lass!” Willy wheezed out, trying to gain his breath while at the same time trying to help her.

Her hand grabbed at the reel, halting the clanking whine of gears churning, her grip tightening as the pole gave a harsh tug in her hands.

Reeling it in took all their effort, Elliot the first to recover enough to grab onto the pole when Valhalla was nearly yanked off her feet under a sudden jerk, and Willy was quick to follow.

The angry splashing and thrashing of the fish when it got close enough caused Willy to whoop loudly, the ruckus it was making clearly defining how large the fish actually was.

“You caught yourself a big one!” Willy exclaimed, his face brilliant as if he had just heard that his birthday had come early as all he and Valhalla left Elliot to hold the pole as they hauled the massive fish onto the dock. “A tuna this big, this close to shore? You got some luck on you, Valhalla!”

Valhalla couldn’t help but grin, lifting the fish that was almost as long as her entire leg up to help carry it over towards the fishing shop so that Willy could show her how to properly prepare a fish after catching it, Elliot picking up their shoes to follow after the pair, although he seemed a bit squeamish at the idea of killing a fish and then scraping all its scales off and cutting it into fillets. Valhalla didn’t mind, fascinated by the whole prospect of getting herself some free protein in her diet.

And coming home with a few portions of fillets after distributing the rest out to both Elliot and Willy for helping her and keeping her company, Valhalla was quite pleased to how the day went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Monatae mentioned about the Junimos getting names, I had, in fact, gave them some! I was already planning on doing so, but the support is also welcomed! 
> 
> As a little something for reading this far, I decided to give you a small factoid: most names outside of those canon in the game are carefully picked out. I actually put quite a bit of effort into naming things, and I tend to use [Behind the Name](https://www.behindthename.com/) to pick them out. 
> 
> Kiraz: means "cherry" in Turkish. This little orange Junimo is a little bit like a cherry outside of its coloring, and thus Valhalla dubbed it as such.  
> Utu: derived from the Sumerian word "ud", meaning "sun". It is also the name of the Sumerian sun god. Fitting for a sunflower-colored Junimo! 
> 
> Bonus name, Agrion: a bit of a personal work around the name Agrona, which the site says "derived from the old Celtic element "agro" meaning "battle, slaughter". This was the name of the Brythonic goddess of war and death". Very fitting for a dangerous dragon of tale, and fitting still for a massive wolf who bears the dragon's namesake.


	19. Doctor's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla officially meets Harvey. Doctors are strange creatures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments you left on the last chapter! I appreciate that you are all still enjoying this story! 
> 
> School has picked up again, and I finally had the time to sit down and write something out! It wasn't quite what I was expecting to write, but it came out nevertheless! 
> 
> Warnings: Valhalla decides clothes are overrated for a short part of this chapter. Nothing detailed, mind you.

Valhalla hated the humidity.

It was still early in the summer growing season, and while the heat of the sun was a familiar warmth on her shoulders and on the back of her neck, the thickened, hazy air made it far more intense. Today the atmosphere was so heavy that it hurt to breathe after just a short amount of labor it took to weed and water her crops, and her clothes became another layer of sweaty skin while she buckled down and cut back some of the brush that had begun its relentless encroachment up the hillside once again.

Covered in dirt and sticky with sweat, Valhalla had just about enough of anything regarding work of any kind before the morning even ended. Kicking her sandals off, Valhalla left a trail of clothing peeled away from her skin that led down towards the stream that ran through the farm in damp heaps before she tipped forward and dropped face first into the stream as soon as the last bit of gross, hot cloth was torn away.

The stream trickled down from the mountains, leaving the water much colder than the air despite its depths and gradual flow this low in the valley. It was an instant balm to Valhalla’s hot skin, standing up in the water to shake her hair out with a sigh of relief.

The mud was soft between her toes as she settled back down into the water, low enough to blow a few bubbles into the water as her eyes drifted shut.

In the water, it was easy to relax and simply not think of anything. The sound of insects and birds in the trees around her lulled her into a state of complacency. Laying still made the thick air a little easier to breathe in, a little more tolerable when the rest of her was submerged in cool water that washed away the morning’s filth from her skin.

She didn’t want to get out, and Valhalla decided that she didn’t have to. Agrion was gone, most likely hiding out in a cool dark cave until evening came, and little Kiraz and Utu were gone as well- possibly taking the jar of pickled leeks she had with them. Did Junimos even need to eat? They had mouths but their bodies were so soft and round. Did it simply digest and absorb into their system? Do they have favorite treats?

Valhalla let out a gentle hum before she sucked in a breath and submerged her head under the water. She supposed it didn’t matter what the Junimos ate- they were still cute. Small, little squishies with legs, they were, and she was more than happy to help them any way that she could. She was sure her mother would love them if the family ever came back together again.

In a fluid motion Valhalla stood up, the water coming up to her waist as she ran her hands over her face to wipe away the water that now dripped from her hair. There was a startled sound somewhere behind her, her ears twitching at the noise as she turned to stare at a man who was standing just a short distance away from the shore.

The man seemed oddly familiar, although Valhalla couldn’t place where. He had a green coat, but it was draped over one arm that also held a bag, and his tie was loosened around his throat to perhaps attempt to relieve himself of the heat and sweat that trickled down from the side of his temple and glistened on the whiskers of his mustache.

He stared at her for a heartbeat behind thick-rimmed glasses before his entire face flushed scarlet- and not from the sun either- as he turned right around to block his sight from her.

“I am so sorry!” he half shouted, half spluttered, his words thick with horror and embarrassment. “I should’ve realized- I didn’t mean-“

His words were cut off as Valhalla began to laugh, dropping into the water with a splash. The creek lapped around her neck as it settled down, her lips curling into a wide grin.

“You are not the first, nor will you be the last,” Valhalla replied. “There is certainly no shame in looking now!”

The man stuttered something that sounded close to “that would be indecent”!, which reminded Valhalla of Virgil when she had forgotten her clothes and simply walked out of the bathroom to get them. He too stuttered and fluttered in embarrassment for her sake, but honestly, she could care less who saw what of her.

“If you want, you can get my clothes so I can dress myself,” Valhalla began, and the stranger started before scrambling for her clothes, doing well to keep his back to her at all times. What a strange man indeed. Still, it was endearing that some people still had enough morality and dignity to simply not ogle, even if she possessed not a single ounce of shame herself in that category of indecency.

The man came back from venturing further up the hill where the trail began, eyes fixated on the bundle of damp, sweaty cloth in his arms that were now devoid of the case and coat he had prior. Valhalla almost automatically lifted herself up out of the water to take her clothing, but caught herself as soon as she put her hands on the bank. She let herself sink a little further into the water for his sake.

“Just put on the grass, thank you.”

He did just that, keeping his eyes down as he quickly turned his back and walked several paces, giving her space with shoulders stiff and hands looking ready to try to fix his tie or the sleeves of his button up in order to keep himself occupied and calm himself down. Instead he threaded them together and waited as Valhalla hauled herself out of the water, wrinkling her nose at the soiled clothing she had to put back on.

“I am Dr. Harvey,” the man stated suddenly, causing Valhalla to pause with one leg in her trousers. “I… well… I sent you a letter earlier in the spring seeing if you wished to set up an appointment, but I suppose you’ve been very busy and simply forgot, so I came for a house call.”

“A… doctor?” Valhalla heard of the word before, but mostly from Virgil regarding his professors, and he didn’t seem to be the teaching kind of doctor. The name also tickled her mind in familiarity, but she struggled to remember what it was.

“You are… a healer?” she settled on, uncertainty lacing both her words and her facial expression as her brows furrowed at the doctor’s back.

“I suppose you could say that,” he answered easily, his voice settling down to a more calm tone now that he was talking about something he was comfortable with. “You do not have a medical file that I have received yet, and from what I have heard from the general rumors of the town, I took a gander at the fact that you may not have one. Your health is my top priority, and I wouldn’t want you getting sick from pathogens you are not familiar with in this area since you most likely do not have your shots up to date.”

Valhalla hummed as she listened, finishing her task of pulling up her pants and stuffing her arms through the holes of her shirt. The thought of being poked and prodded at made her nervous, to be honest with herself. Back home, one of her sisters had been going through a healing program, but Valhalla wasn’t sure if she ever finished it or not. Most illnesses were done through old fashion folk medicine and other various home remedies since they lived so far away from main society that sometimes that was all they could rely on when the travelling healers were only around once every few months unless there was a serious emergency that required someone mounting up and hunting one down.

Valhalla never had much interaction with healers, only once in her memory of childhood when one of her siblings caught a serious fever that wouldn’t come down. Even then, Valhalla spent most of the time trying to distract her younger brothers and sisters from the issue and out of the house so that they wouldn’t disturb the healer’s work.

Medical treatment was far more advanced here than it was back home, she knew, vaguely. But the thought of them actually making a _record_ of her existence when she shouldn’t be anywhere near the Valley made her entirely uneasy. What if someone found it and tried to hunt her down? She didn’t want anyone getting in trouble because they had unknowingly aided a fugitive.

“Will other people read my… file?” Valhalla inquired, hesitance in her voice as she moved a bit closer, the sound of her feet making Harvey turned his head to peek over his shoulders before he lost his tenseness at the sight of her dressed once again.

“All personnel in the medical field take an oath that makes all personal medical records confidential,” the man replied with an inflection of seriousness, turning fully towards her. “Anything and everything that is discussed during the appointment and written on your file will not be discussed with anyone else and your file locked away for medical purposes only.”

Valhalla pressed her lips into a thin line, mulling over the doctor’s words. Even with his reassurances, she still didn’t want to, but she had a feeling that the man would simply not take no for an answer.

“Well, let’s take this to the house then,” Valhalla sighed, gesturing up the hill. “It will be out of the sun.” Judging by the redness still lingering on Harvey’s cheeks and the tips of his ears, Valhalla could only suspect that the sun wasn’t quite agreeing with his paler complexion, especially if he walked all this way out here.

The man seemed rather relieved, content in following Valhalla up the hillside and into the coolness of the house. Valhalla had to hide a smile when Harvey actually hesitated at the doorstep before mimicking the action she had done mindlessly of knocking the dirt off her sandals before entering, most likely thinking it was polite that way, like some people taking their shoes off and leaving them by the door.

It didn’t erase the unease that was brewing in her gut, though.

Harvey set the coat and bag he had brought with him and had picked back up somewhere along the way down onto the kitchen counter after realizing there was no place else to set it down.

“Considering how there isn’t even the beginnings of records for you, we must start from scratch,” he explained, cracking open the case and pulling out several papers. “Please fill these out.”

Valhalla stared at the papers, blankly taking the pen offered to her as she kept her attention entirely on the sheets. There was… a lot of tiny print and blanks. Her reading skills were better than they were when she first came into the Republic, but this was far too much for her.

“Is there a problem?”

Valhalla jolted, head snapping up to Harvey. The doctor had finished fishing out all the tools he needed and was standing before her, his brow scrunching together, perplexed.

“I-“ What was she supposed to say? Valhalla looked down at the papers in her hands, worrying her lower lip.

“I can’t read,” she blurted out. “Well, I can _read_ , but, I can’t. Not… this. Not well. I mean- Miss Penny is teaching me how, but the words are tiny.”

Valhalla stopped herself before she could ramble any further, nervously shuffling the papers in her hand.

Harvey’s eyes became comically wide for a second.

“Oh! That is why some of the others have been telling everyone to tell you in person rather than write it down. That makes sense.” His expression softened after that, gently taking the sheets from her fingers.

“Well, there is an easy solution to this- I can ask you and write down your answers for you.”

That seemed almost even _worse_ , but what choice did Valhalla have? Valhalla sighed, deep and hoping to steady her nerves as she sat down onto the counter beside where Harvey set the papers down to write.

“Now then, what is your full name?” he asked, clicking the pen and holding it at the ready.

“Are you sure you don’t tell anyone?”

Harvey lifted his eyes, first amused, but then his gaze growing gentler at how _nervous_ Valhalla really was feeling, circling her thumbs around each other as her hands rested clasped in her lap.

“No one other than myself and perhaps my assistant will know, but we are both under oath. Your personal information is under our strictest confidentiality, Miss Valhalla.”

 Valhalla was quiet for several seconds, letting her thumbs tap against each other before she got the courage to continue.

“Jahangir Ahura Shadhavar,” Valhalla began with a soft exhale. “I…I know nothing in that is anything similar to Valhalla, but, it is easier to say…” And harder to track down, although she didn’t say that.

“That is fine. Would you like to continue being called Miss Valhalla, or do you wish to be referred to as Miss Shadhavar?” Harvey sounded so professional now, and Valhalla couldn’t help but feel a little relived at that. Asking simple questions, not prying or judging.

“Valhalla. Just Valhalla.”

“Very well, Valhalla.”

She watched him write down her name, although she wasn’t sure how the lettering would come out. She would trust his judgement on the matter, and perhaps fix it later when she had a better grasp on the language.

“Do you know what month and year you were born in?” was the next question on the list, one that made Valhalla suppress a sigh.

“I do not know. Us of Klo track time differently than that of this land, and I do not know how it… changes? I was born in later summer, near the turn of the seasons. It was exceptionally hot that year, mother told me. And I am old enough.”

Harvey hummed, tapping the end of the pen against the paper as his lips formed a thin line as he thought. “Well, that may not help much, but I will put in a loose date that we can change once we understand a bit more of the time conversion.”

“That is fair.”

Most of the questions diverged into a more medical background, such as her knowledge of illnesses she may have had, any allergies, a question about her sexual activities that made her grin and almost break Harvey out of his professional face, but she did admit that she hadn’t had anything of the sort in almost seven years. Still, there was nothing that made Valhalla relax, even when Harvey was gentle in his prodding questions.

And then it turned to actual examinations.

“What’s that?” Valhalla inquired after when Harvey pulled out a stick of all things.

“It’s a tongue depressor. It’s so I can check the back of your throat.”

“Oh.”

Valhalla didn’t know any business that a stick would have in her mouth, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

The light in her eyes certainly was.

“What was that for?” she jerked her head away, eyeing the device he had in his hand that he had flipped a light on that made her eye hurt before he could check the other one.

“It’s to make sure your pupils are reacting like they should. It won’t take long, I promise, just please bend back down here.”

Valhalla eyed the strange device for several seconds before reluctantly lowering herself so a more manageable level so that Harvey could shine the ridiculous light into her eyes. She was still blinking spots out of them when Harvey mentioned checking on her ears, and that was when Valhalla had to put her foot down.

“Oh no. You are _not_ bringing anything anywhere near my ears.” She cupped her fingers around her ears to shield them, sliding off the counter. Harvey was surprisingly just a handful of inches shorter than her, and let out a long sigh out of his nose that bristled through the whiskers under his nostrils.

“It won’t hurt, Valhalla.”

“No.”

“It will only take a second.”

“No!”

Harvey wasn’t going to back down, and neither was Valhalla, and the clash of doctor-patient stubbornness went on for several minutes before Valhalla found herself with arms crossed on the couch, a strange sort of hard candy sweet on a stick stuck in her mouth and several more in her hand while trying very hard not to react in any way with Harvey’s warm fingers that were almost too hot to even tolerate touching the shell of her pointed ears so he could peek into them.

It was harder than one would expect.

The rest of the examination went smoother, with telling him some shapes of various sizes on a piece of paper some paces away, something Harvey called a stethoscope cold against her skin as he supposedly listened to her breathing and her heartbeat, some gentle prodding of her joints to see if they did what they were supposed to.

“I will have to collect your height and weight at a different time,” Harvey said after he put all his equipment away and finishing the last of his findings with a stroke of his pen. “And some blood draws and vaccinations too. I don’t suppose you are available sometime this week to come in?”

Valhalla really wanted to ask why he needed to draw blood- she was sure he could find a red pen or marker from Vincent or Jas and draw some himself without her present- but she held her tongue on that thought.

“Do I have to?” she asked instead, which she received what she could only assume was a stern doctor look.

“Your health is important, Valhalla. The sooner you get these done, the sooner you will be better in the long run.”

Valhalla eyed him, not quite trusting of his words. He just wanted the excuse to prod and shine lights in her eyes again, she just knew it.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow will work,” Harvey actually _smiled_ , breaking the serious doctor-y look he had sported through most of the examination and dealings of her stubbornness. “You can come in any time. There isn’t any other appointments scheduled, so outside of emergencies you are free to come in.”

He seemed far too cheerful of her response. Valhalla was suspicious that he wasn’t entirely human. No human would like to shine lights in other people’s eyes and poke at their ears and then want them to _come back_.

Yet he seemed entirely inconspicuous as a person, with his button-up shirt and mustache and thick glasses. Perhaps it was some sort of disguise, a mask to make people believe he wasn’t about to whip out a flat stick and shove it into your mouth so he could look at your throat.

Maybe she should ask Rasmodius if there were any creatures of the sort native to the Ferngill Republic.

Nevertheless, Valhalla gave him a smile and waved the man off as he left down the steps with his bag and coat over one arm, the papers he had filled out tucked away out of sight. Valhalla never noticed that one page of personal information was left blank and undiscussed, never would know of its existence until much later when Harvey was more comfortable with the thought of asking Valhalla about her family relations.

What Valhalla didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and a doctor’s first prerogative was the well-being of the patient- both physically and mentally.


	20. Clinic Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla has a terrible day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! I'm glad you are all still enjoying this story despite how I'm slowing down due to life. 
> 
> This one's another downer of a chapter. Because Valhalla still has issues. Also because I couldn't work out the chapter I really wanted to write because words are hard so this one came to life instead. Next ones will be better, hopefully? (Also please let me write when I should be sleeping, I apologize in advance for any errors because I can't read straight anymore).

Valhalla didn’t sleep well that night.

“Sleep” was a mockery of a definition that she experienced, the dark hours riddled with memories and nightmares alike that trapped her in a half awake, half unconscious mess that had her choking on her own breath and shaking, her face wet with sweat and tears.

It left her feeling the aches and pains of her past deep within her bones, every movement bringing back phantom pains of reminiscing injuries that left their impressions etched into her skin. She struggled through her morning chores, her shoulders hunched and eyes heavy.

Agrion and the two Junimos noticed, the pair of nature spirits perching quietly on her shoulders and making soft worrying blips whenever she zoned out and threatened to overwater her crops. The soft sound tickled her ears, making her flinch slightly and causing water to slosh over the edges of the watering can at the vague wisps of images of people yanking hard on her ears that the sensation brought forth from the dredges of her mind.

Agrion, meanwhile, simply slumped against her side when she sat down on the porch step to bury her face in her hands for several minutes, trying to regain some semblance of reality.  

She hadn’t had such a bad night in a while, and Valhalla was struggling to work through the day after. Everything seemed so far away yet so close at the same time. Was she really in the Ferngill Republic, or was she feverishly hallucinating still in the dredges of some drainage ditch infections? Were her dreams still memories, or have they been hellishly twisted into something more, betrayed by her own sub consciousness?

Absently she began to run her fingers through Agrion’s coarse, thick fur, attempting to center herself back into the present and not slowly drown in the past and self-doubt. The wolf allowed it, if not a bit grudgingly, panting as the heat of the sun began to slowly bake away at the earth below it.

It was with only the sense of commitment that had Valhalla rise from the seat on the porch and forced her feet to trudge past the fenced opening down the path towards town sometime after she recollected her fraying form. She dreaded to think of Dr. Harvey seeing her in this state, or anyone really, but she did promise she would come in, regardless of how her hands were still trembling at her sides and the scars on her back prickled with ghosting memory of pain.

No one should see her so _weak_.

Agrion followed her until the very end of the bus stop, where he sat down to watch her continue her haphazard trek with an unblinking gaze until she was out of sight. Kiraz and Utu kept her company for the rest of the journey, to where she stepped foot onto cobblestone of the main street of Pelican Town. She vaguely felt the weight of their tiny bodies leave her shoulders, but she couldn’t bring herself to wonder where they went, simply putting all thought into dragging her feet towards the building adjoined to Pierre’s that she remembered other townsfolk pointing out as the clinic.

A tiny bell on the door chimed cheerfully as she stepped into the wafting cool air of the clinic, followed by the strong sent of antiseptic that made her nose itch.

“Hello!”

Valhalla jerked, the door slamming shut behind her with a jarring clatter of metal against wood of the bell as she snapped her head around, trying to focus on the speaker. Behind the large counter right beside the front entrance was a young woman, pretty, with soft brown skin and hair of tightly coiled ringlets that just barely brushed against her shoulders. At first, Valhalla didn’t recognize her, but her tired brain slowly caught up as she took in her appearance. She remembered the girl from the Flower Dance, and her face and shoulder structure were almost eerily parallel to that of Robin’s.

Valhalla caught herself staring, the young woman merely waiting patiently for her to reply, and awkwardly tried to clear her throat as the time ticked by according to the clock on the wall behind the reception counter.

“Hello,” she replied back, her voice thick and cracking a little. “I… Dr. Harvey wanted me in today…?”

It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was enough for the young woman’s eyes to brighten.

“Oh! You are Miss Valhalla then? Mom speaks highly of you! I’m Maru, by the way,” she tagged on, giving the other a sheepish smile as she began to flip through some files that were stacked in a neat pile on the counter. “Yes, here you are! I’m afraid there was a bit of an emergency in Hillside that caused Ha- Dr. Harvey- to be away. He should be back soon!”

“Oh.” Valhalla shuffled a bit, her eyes drifting to the hard plastic chairs that made up a designated sitting area. “I will… just wait then.”

On a normal day, Valhalla would’ve loved to spend the time talking to Maru, getting to know her a bit better. But today she didn’t have the energy or the heart to do anything other than make her way to the farthest corner seat and not notice the furrowing concern that creased Maru’s brow as she watched the much taller woman go, her mouth opening to say something but decided against it.

The seats were small and uncomfortable, the clock seemed to be the only sound in the room as Maru gradually went back to paperwork, the ominous ticking turning into a blurring background noise as Valhalla found herself resting her head against the wall, propped up in the corner as she let her heavy eyelids shut.

Someone touched her. Standing close to her, the warmth of their skin against her own. Valhalla reacted before her consciousness even stirred awake, muscle memory and instinct kicking in.

It was with a thump on the floor, a strangled gasp and a soft scream that shook Valhalla awake. There was Dr. Harvey, arm twisted into a painful contortion around his back under the vice-like grip of her fingers, her knee jammed hard into his spine and the other hand having shoved him head first into the floor. Maru was standing just a few feet away, her hands to her mouth in utter horror and papers from the files she had been holding just seconds prior strewn about her feet.

Reality rushed straight and cold to Valhalla’s heart, pushing herself away from Harvey and knocking the chairs behind her askew. The man groaned, wincing as he pulled his arm back around, rubbing at the bruised tendons as he tried to sit up.

“Dr. Harvey, you shouldn’t get up!” Maru whispered, near breathless as she dropped to her knees beside the man, gingerly trying to look at the growing red spot on his head that would most certainly bruise.

Valhalla couldn’t focus on what was being said next, finding herself unable to even breathe. She felt cornered, horrified over her own actions and terrified as to what will happen now. She knew she had some close scrapes, especially the one with Gunther, but this…

She actually _hurt_ the doctor.

Valhalla found herself scrambling, first on hands and knees before she could get her footing, disoriented as she tripped over chairs and shoved open the first door that was closest to her. It led to a hallway with other doorways, and a large set straight ahead of her. She slammed into the door ahead of her, stumbling over the steps upward in her blind, frantic flight.

She took hold of the large, cushioned chair close to the doorway and dragged it to the first tiny nook she found- a narrow space between the bed and a bookshelf. She pulled the chair in front of it, hiding her from view as she crammed herself between the two pieces of furniture, legs curled to her chest and shaking hands over her ears as she struggled to remember how breathing worked while relatively safe in her makeshift hiding spot.

This was, by far, the worst thing she had ever done. She had gotten _physical_ with an upstanding member of society. Hurting a healer back home had steep consequences if the healer so chose to pursue them- who knew what sort of dire circumstances she was going to find herself in now. Was she going to be outed to the authorities? Were they going to have them drag her back to the Gotoro Empire? Were they going to write her sins upon her skin with strips of scars and pain? Take the farm away from her?

Valhalla scrunched her eyes tightly shut as the door on the other end of the room slowly creaked open the rest of the way from its ajar state. Her hands were trembling against her ears, the movement vibrating down her arms and through her shoulders as she tried not to focus on the presence that was slowly approaching her.

“Valhalla?”

Harvey’s soft voice made her finch something terrible, knocking her elbows into the wall as she tried to make herself even smaller.

“ _I am sorry,”_ she managed to croak out, what little air she managed to suck into her lungs making her chest hurt even as the words of her people slipped from her tongue. “ _I am so, so sorry.”_

She mumbled the phrase several more times, unable to get herself to stop. Was this where he would hurt her? She had no information to give, nothing to even throw him off like she would often do to her Gotoroan captors. She had nothing but her fear and sincere sorrow for the actions she had done against him, because of skills she had to learn and ingrain into her very being so that she would be able to survive just a little while longer in the war-torn landscape of the Empire.

“It’s okay, Valhalla.” Harvey’s voice was closer, but the chair was still in front of her, acting as a visible barrier between herself and reality. Harvey didn’t dare to move it, instead speaking once again.

“Valhalla, it’s alright. I am a little rattled and bruised, but it’s nothing to worry about. Just breathe for me, okay?”

She could hear him settle on the floor right in front of the chair, keeping the object a physical wall between them. She could also hear his gentle murmurs, trying to sooth her frantic heart and panicked breathing. Her arms were still shaking, her eyes shut, but her hands slowly loosened from her ears, going to curl around her knees as she buried her face into them. The new angle made it harder to breathe, but the pain in her lung drew her slowly closer back to reality from the lightheadedness of gasping for nothing like a fish out of water.

“I’m going to move the chair, Valhalla. Is that all right?”

All Valhalla could manage was a soft wheeze of a wordless sound, instead of a confirmation, but Harvey seemed to understand, gently pushing the chair with slow, steady movements.

“Can I come closer?”

Valhalla shook her head, a jerking movement that thumped her forehead against her knees. She didn’t want the man coming closer. She didn’t want to hurt him again, didn’t want him to hurt her. It still hurt to breathe a little, and her heart still ached in her chest.

“That’s all right, I won’t get any closer until you want me to,” Harvey replied gently. “Just follow by breathing, okay?”

Valhalla didn’t know how long it took, but gradually, bit by bit, the panic in her chest returned to rest. The shaking of her arms slowed, but her hands still trembled a bit even as she let them slip from her knees to the floor, not caring how her knuckles jarred against the wood. Ever so slowly, she lifted her head up, letting it drop back against the wall as she stared up at the ceiling with listless eyes.

“I am sorry,” she managed to whisper again towards the plaster above her, only this time in the correct language that Harvey could understand.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Harvey answered, not unkindly. “Can I approach?”

With a slight nod that was barely a tip of her chin, Valhalla closed her eyes, listening to the man shuffle closer on his knees.

“May I touch you? Only to assess your injures, I promise.”

Another barely-noticeable nod, and Valhalla could feel the man gently begin to roll up her pant leg, exposing the slight throbbing bruises from where she ran and tripped over chairs and on the stairs. She lowered her chin, cracking her eyes open to watch the man run his fingers down her shin with heavy eyes.

Deeming no permanent damage to her legs, his warm fingers reached for her hand, carefully examining her knuckles and arms for anything more than bruises. And then he looked up at her face, a slight frown marring his own as he reached upward, smoothing back her hair a little too close for comfort to her ears, but she couldn’t get herself to tell him otherwise for the hair and her ears.

“You injured yourself with your fingernails,” he stated softly. “But they are superficial. They have already stopped bleeding.”

He sat back on his heels, his brows scrunched together with concern as he gazed at her face. Valhalla looked away, finding the grain of the bookshelf wood fascinating.

“I would as if you are all right, but I know that you are not,” Harvey began. “But… if you don’t mind me asking… how long as it been since…?”

“Since my father died,” Valhalla replied with hoarse words. “Everything… fell apart when the Empire took Klo with force…”

She stopped speaking, her throat dry and heart aching with a different kind of pain. A deep-rooted sorrow that lingered in the empty space that once belonged to her father, but so brutally ripped away by the Empire.

Harvey gave her a soft smile, although his eyes still lingered with worry. “Come on,” he uttered, rising to his feet and offering a hand to her. “Let’s get you off the floor.”

Valhalla was soon led to a loveseat, slumping slightly in the furniture as Harvey went into the tiny galley kitchen, coming back to press a glass of water into her hand, which she thoughtlessly lifted to her lips.

“I would recommend several courses of actions,” Harvey began after he dragged the forlorn chair back to its rightful place. “But I believe that you are not a typical patient.”

Valhalla lifted her eyes up to him, and he gave her a slight lopsided smile. “It’s hard not to notice when someone questions if anyone else will see their records. You don’t want to be found, do you?”

Valhalla said nothing, instead tilted her head to stare into the glass of water. She didn’t want to answer, nerves chewing away at her stomach at the thought that Harvey had pieced her predicament together.

“Valhalla,”

The gentle, yet serious tone caused her to lift her eyes back up to Harvey, his eyes conveying the truth to his following statement.

“This falls directly under doctor-patient confidentiality. I will not tell anyone about my suspicions, or anything that you disclose to me. Your health, your _safety_ , is my highest priority as my patient.”

He settled back into his chair, running a hand slightly anxiously through his hair. “And my own father had been a military man before he retired. He tells me more details about the ins and outs of this war with the Empire than any will read in the newspaper. I think he believes it is a sort of apology because I couldn’t become a pilot like I’ve always wanted to as a child.”

He lowered his hand, folding them together in his lap as he continued. “I know that you are… most likely not here legally. Regardless of that minor fact, you have done a lot of good in this town in your short time here. I know you mean well, and I would forever be guilty if I had a hand in sending _anyone_ back to Gotoro. You deserve better than that, and as your doctor, I will do what I can to help you. I cannot prescribe you medications or send you to a specialist, since they can be traced back, but I… I can do what I can if you need someone to talk to.”

For the first time of that day, Valhalla felt a hint of a smile tug at the corners of her lips, faint but heartfelt as she forced her aching body to lean over, reaching out to rest her hand on top of his folded ones.

“You are a good man,” she murmured gently, before letting her hand slide away, sinking back into the loveseat. “I… I hope I didn’t scare Maru too much…I didn’t mean to hurt you”

“She’ll understand,” Harvey gave her a comforting smile. “She was concerned for you when you came in not looking well and then promptly fell asleep. Jodi and Pierre heard her from the shop and came in shortly after you ran up the stairs. As for myself, I am simply bruised. There is no need to worry about me.”

The large red mark on his face said otherwise, but Valhalla knew not to press, instead going to wring her hands together.

“I didn’t sleep,” was all she could say to that, staring down at her hands. “It’s…happened before. Get antsy when people touch me when I don’t expect it.”

“I will remember that in the future, I will just let you sleep next time. Now, you should drink that up. I need to check on things downstairs.”

Valhalla gave him a small nod as Harvey got up and headed towards the door, his footsteps prickling in her ears. She stared at the glass of water, listening to the soft murmur of voices that were far too muffled by the doors and walls to pick out words. She rotated the glass in her hand slowly, gazing down at the water inside.

Even if the doctor was okay with what happened, she just hoped that she didn’t break her chances with everyone else.


	21. The Luau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla, reluctantly, goes to the Luau. A surprise is waiting for her there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets good near the middle, I promise. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The rest of the week dragged on in an endless hot, humid haze of perpetual exhaustion and wandering thoughts. Valhalla didn’t- couldn’t- sleep more than an hour or two without waking herself up in a blind panic, hadn’t gone back to town since leaving the clinic, and had reverted back to rationing and eating little despite of how much food she had between the crops and stored foodstuffs both in the refrigerator and preserved.

Agrion wandered off less and less, and Kiraz rarely left her sight, the pair seeming to tag-team in watching over her as she went through the motions of watering and weeding her plants while she mentally and emotionally checked out. It took both their efforts with nudges from Agrion’s snout or small pats with tiny hands and quiet burbles to keep her from accidentally ripping out the wrong stalk of green.

And after finishing up her daily duties, Valhalla found herself merely sitting on the porch step in a depressive state of utter loss and self-doubt.

No matter how hard she tried, she always found a way to muck things up. The incident with Dr. Harvey only dragged the memories of the war that she desperately tried to bury for the most part to the forefront of her mind, and her dreams followed suit. Conflict was written upon her soul, scoured out across her skin and carved into her heart. It was all she would ever be good at.

Even before the war ever started, Valhalla had been training to join her own country’s forces. It had been her responsibility and her duty. The war only forged the weapon that was herself into a fine, dangerous edge, without restraint or control.

Why did she keep fooling herself, pretending to be this, this farmer? Every time Valhalla got comfortable with her surroundings, with the people around her, she always did something to ruin the façade, a little hiccup that caused a landslide. Yet no one else seemed to understand at all, that they were letting a… a _war machine_ to live among them. She may have been initially trailed to be a protector, but war had its way of twisting people, ideals.

Valhalla sat back on her heels, staring unseeingly at the star-shaped flowers that were sprouted before her, their soft golden petals bobbing lightly in the breeze. The sweet, tangy aroma that the flowers brought forth made her feel oddly homesick all of the sudden, churning her stomach and aching her heart as Valhalla closed her eyes.

She shouldn’t _be_ here. She should be at home, with her family, living peacefully in the wide plains of Klo. No Empire, no war, no being so terribly _alone_ and uncertain of her own future.

Kiraz peeped softly by her laxed fingertips before melting away as Agrion lifted his head to stare towards the front gate of the farm. Valhalla opened her eyes to look over at the sound of footsteps, light and bouncy against the grass and shale slates. She didn’t know what she should be more surprised by- the familiar blue head of hair that bounced into view or that Agrion didn’t growl, only lowering his ears a little in displeasure, but refusing to move from her side.

“Good morning Valhalla!” Emily beamed, stopping before the beginning fences that protected the crop fields, her gaze falling upon the golden flowers. “Oooh! Summer Spangles!”

“Is that’s what they’re called?” Valhalla couldn’t get her voice to sound interested, her heart not into it. Emily simply smiled at her, not pitying but something more honest.

“There is a small gathering going on today,” Emily hummed, folding her hands behind her back as she tipped up to her toes. “A communal pot of soup is made every year made with things grown in the Valley.”

“Oh.” Valhalla wanted to be excited, she really did. But she couldn’t. She simply felt… depleted.

“There’s more than that!” Emily added with a knowing smile, rocking onto her heels. “Something good will happen to you when you’re there. I can feel it! Oh! You must come!”

Valhalla gazed into the eager face of the blue-haired girl before her and felt her resolve crumble. Emily was bound and determined, believing every word she said. And Valhalla was weak to pretty people, no matter how she felt. Her face was open and bright and _hopeful_ \- how could Valhalla even think of saying no to that?

“Alright,” Valhalla sighed, rising up to her feet. “I need to… contribute, right? What do I bring?”

And with Emily’s eyes falling back down to the flowers at her feet, Valhalla realized with sudden clarity what exactly she was bringing.

The walk to the beach was quiet of conversation, although Emily filled the silence between them with some cheerful humming, having threaded her fingers through Valhalla’s own and swung their arms a little as they went, her other arm hooked through the handle of the basket full of fresh-cut Summer Spangles that she had insisted on carrying herself. Valhalla simply let her do what she wanted; it did no harm and it made Emily happy.

“I thought you said this was a small gathering,” Valhalla murmured lowly into Emily’s ear as they crossed the bridge over the river, passing by several cars that had parked on the cobblestone street.

“Well, it’s small compared to the Fair,” Emily replied. “But it is bigger than the Flower Festival. The Luau brings some attention since the Governor comes by to try the soup.”

Valhalla wanted to ask her who or what a governor was, but decided against it with a soft click of her teeth as she closed her mouth as they stepped off the path and onto sand.

Tables had been set up along the beach. Crock pots and tin foil-covered trays littered the tops with spoons and other serving utensils littered about. Plates and napkins were held down from blowing away by the occasional breeze by a convenient rock. The smell of something roasting drew Valhalla’s attention to the familiar form of Linus rotating a spit of some sort of meat over a bed of coals that was off set from the even bigger, central fire in the middle of all the tables and beach towels and lawn chairs. This one held the largest pot that Valhalla had ever seen, Marnie carefully stirring its contents with a long spoon.

“Come on,” Emily tugged on her arm, and Valhalla let her lead her through the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces that loitered in the sand, nibbling on some of the appetizers or playing in the shallows of the sea. Marnie looked up and smiled at them as they approached, never ceasing in her steady stirring.

“If you have anything for the soup, just throw it in!”

“Fresh Spangles are the best herbs for any soup,” Emily told Valhalla, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she added. “That’s why I had you get them. Last year’s soup was a bit bland.”

“They don’t season it?” Valhalla whispered back, feeling as though as she should as to not insult anyone as she followed Emily’s actions of gently plucking the petals off the flowers first, waiting a few minutes before adding the stigmas and styles of the flower and then waiting a little while longer to shred the leaves and toss them in too, leaving nothing but the stems. “That’s not how you make soup.”

“I know. It’s a tradition though. Lewis spends the time sucking up to the Governor in possibility to get some tax breaks or extra funding.”

Oh, so the governor was some sort of political figure. That would explain the extra people. Valhalla winced slightly as she caught a pair of strangers in the corner of her vision, whispering and pointing towards her. She hunched her shoulders slightly in response, as if tensing them would shield her from their gossip as she quietly shuffled off from the center of attention while Emily began to chatter amiably with Marnie.

“Hello Miss Valhalla!” A small body latched onto her leg, and then another to the opposite. Valhalla couldn’t help but feel a small smile creep into the corners of her lips as she began to walk regardless of Jas and Vincent clinging to her legs, causing them both to squeal and laugh as she dragged them through the sand.

“Hello you two. How has your summer been?” And that was all it took to get them to both start chatting away, telling stories about their small adventures through the pastures of Marnie’s ranch, catching bugs and promptly feeding them to the cows (Vincent and Jas respectively). Valhalla simply smiled and nodded along, content in letting them talk to her while she kept quiet. It was hard to focus on their happy, innocent chatter while she felt stares at her back and the inaudible whispers of strangers tickling her ears.

She subtly tried to hide them with bringing her shoulders higher up, squatting down to watch the two young children build shapes in the sand as they waited for the soup to get done.

“Valhalla! May I have a word?”

Valhalla lifted her head to blink at Lewis’ call, giving the two children an idle pat on the head before she rose back to her feet and shuffled across the beach to the Mayor. A very large, round man in deep purple stood beside Lewis, making the older man appear gangly in comparison. Lewis smiled and patted Valhalla on the back good heartedly as he gestured towards the huge stranger.

“Governor, may I introduce to you our new farmer?”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Valhalla replied, knowing full well that Lewis was trying to make a good impression, and that this man was also some sort of high standing. She gave him a short bow, uncertain of what else to do and utterly forgetting for the moment that handshakes existed. It seemed not right for this occasion.

A deep, slightly wheezing laugh escaped the Governor, his squinty eyes becoming even narrower as they crinkled together with mirth. “Well! Haven’t been greeted like that before! It’s good to meet you too- Valhalla, was it?”

“Yes sir. I hear you are here for the soup?”

“Yes yes. The Valley never fails to surprise me, especially seeing someone like you here! Oh, how diverse Lewis is making his quaint little village!”

Valhalla blinked slowly, confused as to how to proceed. Thankfully, Lewis came to save her from her own confusion as he cleared his throat.

“Well, I think the soup should be ready by now! How about we start the tasting?”

“Very good! I can’t wait to see how it turns out this year!”

And the pair toddled off towards the massive pot of soup, bringing the attention of everyone else and causing a hush to settle along the beach.

Valhalla let herself slide away from the forming ring, making herself comfortable in the distance that was around Linus’ roasting meat.

“That looks good,” she murmured to the man, keeping her words soft as to not startle him. The heat of the coals offset the heat and humidity of the summer air, one that possibly was far too unbearable for most of the others and left the man at peace.

“Thank you.” The corners of Linus’ eyes crinkled, the wild beard shifting to a small smile. “It will at least satisfy the crowd if the soup fails to impress.”

“You may have some competition,” Valhalla mused as the crowd began to cheer and bunch closer to the pot with bowls to taste its contents. “Guess it turned out okay... looked like pond slime though.”

Linus let out a low chuckle, stopping the rotation of the meat.

“Help me carry this?”

With a small nod, Valhalla grabbed the other end of the spit, helping Linus as he grasped the other end and lifted it off the rack, carrying it over to be carved out and shared with the others.

“The soup’s good!” Abigail popped up beside her elbow, stealing one of the first slices of meat- or several if Linus didn’t thwack her knuckles lightly with a fork. “Thank Yoba you actually put herbs into it. Last year it tasted like bland soggy vegetables, and the year before that Sam decided to put a whole lot of anchovies into it! It was hilarious!”

Valhalla hummed, idly grabbing the paper plate that Linus gave her, already containing meat stacked up on it which led to Abigail whining about how he gave the taller woman more than her. Valhalla simply gave them a small smile before wandering off to the other tables where the dishes began to be uncovered and main courses served up high on their thin plates. She only took a little, mostly vegetables, while trying to ignore the stranger who gasped softly at her side, eyes transfixed upon her pointed ears. Thankfully none of them seemed to be brave enough to talk to her directly, finding some excuse to ease away from her and leave her at relative peace.

Emily fluttered over towards her side after Valhalla had picked her way through half of her plate, gently tugging on her arm with a soft, knowing smile on her lips. “Valhalla, there is someone here to see you.”

Valhalla scrunched her brows at the shorter woman, who simply pointed towards the path that led back to town that was situated behind her. It caused Valhalla to turn, blinking as she took in the familiar sight of blue. Gunther stood at the very edge of the path, where the gravel turned to sand, and beside him was…

The plate dropped onto the beach, but Valhalla didn’t notice nor cared as her feet propelled forward, leaving an ever-knowing Emily behind. People yelped and turned their heads as she hurdled past them, stunned, hopeful disbelief filling her chest as her long legs crossed the distance between herself and the tiny young man who only came midway up Gunther’s chest in height- barely coming up to the bottom of Valhalla’s own- shorter than any of other young townswomen and visitors alike.

Valhalla didn’t get a good look at him besides that as she collided into him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and lifting him up completely off his feet, burying her face into his red hair. She felt small hands struggling to pat her on the back, growing more frantic in the few seconds of her half crushing him to death.

“Oh Virgil,” Valhalla whispered as soon as she set the poor man down, bending so that she could run her fingers through the wild strands of hair and rest them upon his shoulders to give him a good look. “I didn’t- I thought- how?!”

He looked relatively the same as he did when he left several months ago. His face was still thin, his body was just as bony as before. His hair was slightly longer, tickling the tips of his ears that were tinged pink, as were his freckled cheeks, both from the exposure to the sun and the helpless, tiny smile and watering cornflower blue eyes that came along with the well of emotion he himself felt at the reunion. The dark rings around his eyes were still present, and while he looked happy, he looked as tired as Valhalla felt this past week.

Perhaps neither of them had gotten much sleep recently.

“Dr. Gunther offered me an internship,” he replied softly, his pale hands appearing from the long sleeves of the threadbare hoodie he somehow managed to keep on despite the heat as they reached out to grasp around Valhalla’s wrists, holding onto her as much as a lifeline as she was giving his shoulders. “I...I came back.”

Valhalla’s hands slid away from Virgil’s shoulders as she rose, staring at Gunther.

“You… you brought him back?”

“Well, when I found out he was doing historical and artifact research, I couldn’t help but offer him a job,” Gunther answered with a slight shrug. Suddenly Valhalla remembered the images on his computer weeks ago. No wonder they were familiar- they were the same pictures Virgil showed her just before he left! He had been working on this the entire time?

 “It seemed to be the-“

He didn’t get to finish, Valhalla didn’t let him, her hands cupping the sides of his face and his beard tickling against her skin as she smothered his lips into silence with her own. She felt the man freeze under her touch in complete surprise, the howling catcalls from Abigail and good-natured laughs from a few other of the townsfolk causing her ears to flick.

Valhalla pulled away, her vision rippled with salty tears as she gave Gunther a smile brighter than any she had given in a long, long time.

“ _Thank you_.”

And she meant that, heart and soul, gazing at the man who was merely a breath away from her, his glasses having been knocked askew and slid down to the bridge of his nose as he stared back at her with surprise written in the entirety of his frigid posture .

His eyes were _gold_ , she noted with sudden realization. Pure, molten gold, hot right out from Clint’s blacksmithing forge. They were absolutely _beautiful_.

“Do you have to kiss everyone?” Virgil’s soft voice jerked her attention away from staring at Gunther, her hands falling away from the sides of his face as she looked down at her tiny friend, his nose wrinkled a little.

“Aw, don’t worry, you get one too,” Valhalla teased, bending down to press her lips against his forehead. His face turned as vibrant as his hair, the color creeping up the shell of his ears and merging with the plethora of freckles on his skin as hurriedly shoved her face away from him.

“I don’t even _want_ to know where your mouth has been,” he retorted back in partially feigned, partially truthful disgust, which only made Valhalla laugh, hope and happiness bubbling inside her chest as she simply scooped him off his feet again, causing him to squeak.

“You are still the easily flustered, tiny boy I had met!” Valhalla beamed, pressing her nose against the crook of his neck. He smelled of old paper and ink. All these months away, and he was still the same. Still the tiny, calming presence to her chaotic life.

“I missed you,” she mumbled against the fabric of his jacket, muffling it from the others who were coming towards them, Abigail laughing all the while.

“I missed you too,” he whispered back, balling a sleeve in his fingers to scrub at the tears that slipped down his own cheeks. He didn’t even protest when Valhalla began to carry him down the path towards town, knowing that the crowd would simply be too much for him right now. It was too much for her as well, even if the previous emptiness was swept away and filled with warmth that she hadn’t felt all week. She could hear Emily in the distance telling the others to leave them be, and she gave herself a mental note to give the woman something as a gift in return.

She and Virgil had a lot to catch up on.

Meanwhile, Gunther watched them go, staring after them in a frozen haze as Emily floated in beside him, the townsfolks and visitors placated for the time being with their own gossip and rumors of what had just transpired.

“You should tell her,” she stated simply.

“…Yeah,” was all he could utter, breathless and absent as he slowly lifted his hand to pull his tinted glasses completely off his nose, his golden eyes rising up to stare down the now empty path. “Perhaps…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VIRGIL IS HERE! THE SMOL BOI IS HERE! And Gunther is finally smooched. SMOOCHED!
> 
> I am far too excited to be writing and posting this before 8am. I apologize for any and all mistakes present in this.


	22. Charoite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla finds a gift in her mailbox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments in the last chapter! I'm glad you were all just as excited as I was! This chapter is not as exciting, but maybe it is? Who knows. Certainly not me. 
> 
> As I mentioned in previous chapters, I do have a [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/) I currently have revamped it so that it isn't a colossal mess and simply a mess. Feel free to drop on by! 
> 
> Enjoy!

There was something about two lonely souls sharing the same space that made rest peaceful and warm, curled up around each other to simply bask in the other’s presence with thoughts far away from their worries.

Valhalla grew up with her own bed being occupied by the bodies of her siblings, crawling under the covers and into her arms in the middle of the night after a nightmare or simply for the contact. Virgil, from what little she knew and much of what she could infer, had gone throughout the entirety of his childhood and teenage years with little comfort or love offered by those who should’ve. His sleep was limited, avoiding the terrors that plagued his subconscious during the night hours entirely by forcing himself to keep going until either his body or his mind gave out on him and forced him to rest.

They filled the void that was in the other- Virgil giving what Valhalla used to have but no longer did, and Valhalla giving what Virgil never had to begin with. It hadn’t been easy at first, but over the short months they had known each other, they had slowly gravitated towards each other and curled their limbs around each other for a night where dreams did not force them awake shaking or unable to fall asleep in the first place as their own thoughts turned against them.

Valhalla gently brushed the vibrant strands of hair away from Virgil’s forehead, gazing down at his face as he continued to sleep on. They had returned to the farm after leaving the Luau, and had spent much of the night simply talking before they had both crashed onto the couch. She couldn’t remember who had been the first to doze off, but it didn’t matter much as they both desperately needed it.

He was still far too small, seeing and feeling the curvatures of his bones underneath his skin. She had worked with him on getting him to eat on a semi-regular basis than that of his main habit of forgetting entirely, paired with his reluctance to sleep that had become habitual. She would simply have to keep working with him, now that he was here and here to stay, having taking what little belongings he had with him from the tiny apartment in the city and let the lease expire.

Pressing her lips to his forehead, Valhalla carefully began the task of unfurling Virgil’s arms from around her. For such a thin, frail-looking person, he certainly had an iron-grip when it came to cuddling against her in his sleep. A smile crept into the corners of her mouth at the remembrance of when she told him that he was a bit of a cuddler in his sleep- the color of his skin matched the color of his hair, and it had crept down the collar of his shirt as he spluttered in denial.

Still didn’t stop him, though.

Virgil made a quiet grumbling sound in the back of his throat as Valhalla finally freed herself, his frame shifting as he rolled over to face the back of the couch instead, tucking his arms closer to his chest and half under the cushions to preserve the warmth he got from her presence, his chin burying into his jacket.

Valhalla couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking her head at her friend. Sands, she missed him. His mere presence made everything so much tolerable, a familiar presence that made things feel a bit more like home, that she wasn’t alone anymore. He was younger than even _Mithra_ , the youngest of her siblings, and yet…

She could see herself in him, a small, fractured piece of heartache and sorrow that he carried upon his shoulders and within his eyes. It was not the same, but while she wore her heart on her sleeve and the war tore it asunder, Virgil had learned from a young age to hide, not to draw attention towards himself.

She did not know much about his past, and very little about his family. She knew about Erwan Jernigan, the man who had owned Shalebreak prior, more than she did about Virgil’s closer relatives. She knew that he had lived with his uncle and his family, and that he didn’t know his father, and that his mother was dead, but beyond that, he shut down completely and uttered not a word for the rest of the day when she had asked.

But Valhalla could infer. Virgil’s silence and reluctant spoke volumes, and the subtle actions and reactions painted a picture that made her blood boil with rage and her heart ache with worry for him. Still, she tried not to pry more than was necessary, and simply offered the comfort and support of a friend and an adult who actually _cared_ for him.

Broken souls such as them needed each other.

Slipping her sandals on, Valhalla went out the door to take care of her crops before anything else, shutting the door softly behind her so that she would not disturb Virgil’s well deserved rest. Agrion had been laying on the top of the steps, lifting his head so that red eyes stared her down with an unblinking gaze, the slight twitch of his ears and nose the only sign of his mild curiosity of the new scent that she carried with her.

“ _He’s a friend,”_ she told the wolf gently in her native tongue, holding out a hand for him to sniff. “ _He means no harm._ ”

Agrion made a short snort before turning his head away to rest back onto his paws, curiosity satisfied and deeming the scent unimportant. At least it was better than his reaction to Lewis, whom he still growled at whenever the familiar truck rolled up for the morning mail. It took a few weeks, but over time Lewis learned to simply carry on under Valhalla’s reassurance, and Agrion didn’t bother to get up from his resting spot to harass the man anymore.

It was a win-win in any case.

Even in the early morning sunlight, the air was still too hot and sticky for Valhalla’s liking. Yet she was in a good mood, bouncing on her toes from actually getting proper sleep and being reunited with the closest friend she’s had since the war began between Klo and the Gotoro Empire. It felt as if something was going _right_ for once, that she was doing okay. Virgil had been happy to see the farm, proud of her accomplishments in such a short time. She had spent a good portion of the time showing off all the plants, and Virgil gently correcting her when she got the names wrong.

For the first time that week, Valhalla felt as if she was functioning like she should be, alert and genuinely happy of her accomplishments and whispering encouragements to her plants. The tomatoes were just starting to turn from green to red, and would most likely be ready by tomorrow to harvest. The melons she gently pressed her fingers against before picking a few from the massive vines, piling them up onto the porch steps with eagerness of actually eating them later once she cleaned up and didn’t smell like earth and sweat. Most of the other plants were in various stages of growth, either with tiny flowers or slowly developing fruit. She would be busy harvesting for the next few days, it seemed.

Putting the last of the melon on the stair, Valhalla let out a small puff of a laugh as Agrion lifted his head, giving the melons a look as if they were the ones disturbing his sleep before he rose to his feet with reluctant dramatics and slouched away towards the shade of the forest. Valhalla waved him off, unable to hide her smile. He had such a grumpy personality- it was endearing.

It was during the action of lowering her arm when something caught the corner of her eye. The bright red flag of the mailbox was up, signaling that there was mail inside. She blinked at it before walking down the shale path towards it. The contents was mostly ads, which wasn’t much a surprise since most of the townsfolk had realized by now that it was easier to simply tell her things than leave her notes. What was surprising was the small box that rested on top of all the garbage mail.

It wasn’t much bigger than her hand, the cardboard a soft, waxy white. A single piece of tape sealed the top shut, and there was no address, no markings that it was mailed out, not even a stamp. That meant that someone that either someone gave it to Lewis directly and told him to give it to her, or someone had walked all the way up here and put it into her box without getting Agrion to be entirely furious of a stranger on his territory.

Still, even the locals tended to at least put in an address or a stamp, because Lewis was a bit picky like that. So the mysterious, unlabeled box was something of an oddity even done by the locals.

Valhalla shook the box a little. There was something large and slightly heavy inside, but nothing that seemed suspicious. No ominous rattling, no other noises. Just a simple scraping and tapping of something against the sides of the box as it shifted in the small space left for it to move. Deeming it safe enough, she ran a fingernail over the tape, unsealing the small package and slowly lifted the lid to peek inside.

“ _Oh-!”_

Carefully, Valhalla tipped the box over, letting the contents slide out into her open palm. It was a small slab of polished stone, one of a deep violet in color, mixed with blacks and white like a painting. It was smoothed into an oval shape, its surface glossy as she rotated it in her hand to catch the sunlight.

There was nothing in the box to tell her what kind of stone it was, but Valhalla couldn’t help but marvel at it nevertheless. It was so intricate in the odd patterns of black, purple, and white. She ran her thumb over its surface, smooth and soothingly cool under her touch. It was such a wonderful gift, but now she was left with uncertainty as to who sent it. She wished she could thank them- it was very pretty and holding it made the hair on the back of her arms prickle a little. That, or it was the sweat slowly evaporating in the rising sun’s warmth. She wasn’t sure which it was.

As gently as she could, she set the stone back in the box so that she could carry the melons left on the porch step into the house. She set both the melons and the box onto the kitchen counter, giving the box one last thoughtful look before she was distracted by a soft burble near the couch.

Kiraz and Utu had appeared, along with about three other friends. The curious Junimos were situated on the empty space on the couch, poking at the sleeping Virgil who had rolled over so that he was lying on his back, one arm draped over his chest and rising and falling steadily with every breath.

“Let him sleep,” she whispered to the nature spirits, squatting down so that she was more eye-level with them as the tiny creatures turned to blink beady eyes at her. “He needs his rest.”

The Junimos merely blinked at her before bubbling softly to themselves. They remained quiet enough not to disturb Virgil from his sleep, so Valhalla left them be, rising up to her full height to make her way up the stairs towards the shower.

Virgil was awake by the time she came back down, hair damp and no longer covered in sweat and soil. He looked as if he had just sat up in a sudden jolt, blinking bewilderedly as he stared at a spot on the couch where the nature spirits had been standing but were no longer present until the last step creaked under her foot and caused him to snap his head up.

“Did the Junimos wake you up?” she asked idly, wandering into the kitchen to make up some tea.

“Wha-? I-?”

Virgil lost all ability to speak coherently, staring at the back of Valhalla’s head. She peered over her shoulder at him, giving him a smile. “The small round colorful things? Make weird sounds? They are the Junimos. They come around for time to time.”

A familiar weight settled upon her other shoulder, small little Kiraz letting out a cheerful warble and waved a tiny arm while Virgil stared at her as if she had grown a second head.

“…It’s too early for this…” he finally settled on, causing a laugh to rumble through her chest, shaking her head as she pulled the kettle off the stove and poured water into a pair of cups.

“If you think that is strange, wait until you see the Timberline Terror I made friends with,” she told him as she set a mug into his hands.

The incredulous look she received almost made her drop her mug with laughter.

“Now let me get this straight,” Virgil began, almost an hour and two and a half cups of tea later with half a melon left between them as they sat on the kitchen counter. “There is an actual _wizard_ who lives in the woods, who helped you get into contact with _spirits_ , who want you to give them things so they can fix up a _building_?? On top of that, you have a non-native, highly aggressive and intelligent wolf running around your property and _nobody cares??_ ”

“Well, Lewis cares, only if Agrion attacks someone,” Valhalla added, which caused Virgil to make a sound that crossed between a startled laugh and a snort as he hid his face into his cup of tea.

“You’ve only been here for barely half a year and you’ve somehow made everything terribly exciting.”

“What can I say? I am a very exciting person.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, and Valhalla smiled behind a wedge of melon, all intention to finish off the entire melon by herself in one sitting in mind.

“Has the wizard done magic?” Virgil decided to question on, setting the now empty mug down beside him.

“Oh yes! He’s moved one place to the next without walking! Several times, in fact. Rasmodius also has weird circles all over his house too, and made something to help me understand the Junimo writing. Tasted horrible, though. I’ve coughed things up that tasted better.”

“That’s… a bit too much information,” Virgil replied, wrinkling his nose a little. “But you seem to think highly of this… Rasmodius person.”

“He’s very nice. Shy, but nice,” Valhalla agreed. Living all alone in that tower of his… he must be terribly shy. And lonely. At least he came by every once in a while so that she could keep him company. It was better now, she supposed, now that Utu was always venturing over to be a general nuisance. It gave him something to do other than brood in his tower.

“Did he give you that box, then?”

Valhalla blinked, before looking around herself to take a peek at the white box she had forgotten on the counter that Virgil was looking at, knowing full well it hadn’t been there the night before.

“No, no. I think someone else did,” Valhalla replied, setting the melon rind down and wiping the juice onto her trousers in order to pick up the box to hand over to Virgil, who took it with carful fingers. “Rasmodius seems to be of a person who would give things to me openly, or leave a note. This was in my mailbox. I think one of the others put it in there.”

Virgil carefully lifted the purple stone out of the box turning it over in his hands with eyes widening before his brows scrunched together. Kiraz, who had disappeared sometime after the first mug of tea and escaping Virgil’s intrigued poking, came back into view beside the young man, peering up over his leg at the stone with a curious burble.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked softly, holding the stone over to the small Junimo after a brief hesitation so the spirit could see it.

“No,” Valhalla answered, even as Kiraz made a happy little sound and bounced a little on their spindly legs, causing the small branch and leaf on their head to sway in excitement.

“It’s Charoite. Sometimes it’s called ‘The Stone of the Dragon’, or ‘Charoite Jade’ depending on what region you’re from.”

“I… never heard of it.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Virgil explained softly, disbelief filtering into his tone. “It’s rare. Very rare. There’s only once place in the entire world that you can find it, and tiny island-country it’s found in keep it a tight-lipped secret. Ancient rulers used to give it to another ruler as a sign of ultimate respect and alliance, or a gift from a very devout, rich lover. I read it used to be considered a healing, very protective symbol in many cultures, but getting your hands on it was… near impossible, mostly because the tales claim that only very powerful creatures such as dragons or god-kings had access to it and you had to go through trials or beg or try to steal it from them.”  

Now it was Valhalla’s turn to furrow her brows, trying to piece together what little she understood from Virgil’s rambling. “So… someone gave me a very rare rock?”

Virgil lifted his eyes, and there was something entirely unreadable within them as he took hold of her wrist.  
“No, no one just gave you a rare rock,” he began as gently as he could, turning her hand over in order to place the smooth, purple stone into her palm and curling her fingers around it for her as he lifted his cornflower blue eyes back up to look at her, so that she understood exactly how serious he was about what he was going to tell her.

“They gave you the ultimate courting gift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charoite is a really pretty stone that has a lot of meanings behind it apparently. From a general consensus of all the "crystal lore" websites, it is a stone of deep spiritual and emotional healing, protection, comfort, and endurance in the face of adversary. I thought it was very interesting. 
> 
> More down-to-earth research; charoite is only found in a certain river region of Siberia, and its obscure patterns when polished make many people believe for it to being synthetic at first glance. In reality, it's simply very unique and very pretty!


	23. Return to Sender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla continues to get more gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and support you have been giving this story! I'm glad you are still reading it this far into it! 
> 
> This chapter's a bit of a downer once again. Valhalla's an emotional roller-coaster and I can't seem to tell her what to do. In any case, things will always get better, so there's that to look forward to!
> 
> Enjoy!

Valhalla rolled the stone over in her palm, losing herself in quiet contemplation that had begun to find herself in when she was left alone in the past three days.

The revelation that Virgil had explained to her had left her feeling blindsided. She could understand gifts- friendly gestures in return to her own random gifting of preserves and produce since she got her first plants to grow. She could understand even practical joke gifts, a gag that meant little harm and for a good laugh.

But a courting gift?

Valhalla ran her thumb over the smooth surface, the morning light catching the swirls of purple and white that offset the deep blacks. Even before the war, Valhalla hadn’t been a person to settle for a relationship that was planned to last longer than a night or two. A brief, physical connection for both parties only to depart on good terms, their pleasures satisfied and urges sated for the present time. Her mother said it was simply in her blood, always giving her a knowing, motherly look before making sure she knew she was doing and not accidentally make a grandchild that she wasn’t ready for.

Regardless of how her mother wanted Valhalla to be happy, she also wanted her daughter to be settled before even considering children. Providing stability for everyone involved, or something along those lines.

The only snag in any of it was that Valhalla _was_ the eldest. She inherited all the political and familiar duties that were responsible of her from _both_ sides of the family, and she had taken it all in good stride. Serious relationships wasn’t something she had been even considering for several more years, both because of her obligations to family and country, and because while her own family was open for her own decisions, a few other powerful families certainly weren’t, and if she had given even the slightest indication that she was interested in any of their relations, they would be knocking at her parents’ door trying to arrange a bonding between them.

Yet in the middle of Republic territory, with no signs of any of her people, both the good and the not-so welcomed, someone was, in fact, interested in her in a personal, _emotional_ relationship beyond that of what she was used to having.

Virgil had to explain to her about courting gifts, since the word was outside of her growing vocabulary. While it wasn’t the same gesture to what of the Republic’s own tradition, or even that of Stardew Valley’s (apparently there were flowers given to initiate and some sort of pendant for question of marriage involved regardless of where you were in Ferngill), it was more in parallel to that of the courtships belonging to that of tiny chains of islands nestled far to the south on the other side of the world.

That fact was only confirmed when, just yesterday, another gift was found in her mailbox containing a tin of dried spices that tickled her nose and the print on the side wasn’t in any language she knew. Virgil had taken one look at it, made a startled noise, and buried himself in the main bedroom here he had piled all his books into for several hours before coming out with his discovery.

Apparently, someone was giving her gifts of intention, a soft, secret inquiry. The first one was supposed to be something that told the recipient of how much they were worth in the eyes of the sender. The language was loose in its definition, but most of the time it was something pretty, or something valuable. According to Virgil, the Charoite most definitely meant that whoever sent it saw her as near priceless.

The second gift was to represent something about the sender. A “slice of home”, as Virgil read with the book propped on one knee, leaning against Valhalla’s shoulders to wonder over the strange font and pretty geometric patterns on the spice tin.

It took a trip to town and to the library to find the answer to that, squashed in the far corner at the only public computer with Valhalla leaning onto Virgil’s shoulders as he tried to look it up. Apparently she was now the proud owner of a tin of dried Haab- a strange sort of herb that may or may not be related to the peppercorn, but only grown in the volcanic island chain of Paici. Like the Charoite, it was expensive and rare- but only outside of the island chain.

Valhalla missed the look Virgil turned towards the front desk as she marveled over the pretty pictures on the screen, his brows scrunching together as if he was putting together a puzzle that he finally had all the pieces to.

“What do you think I should do?” Valhalla murmured softly, her eyes dropping from the Charoite in her hand to the Junimo on her knee. The small orange spirit tilted its entire body in an inquisitive manner, a soft, purring warble escaping it. Valhalla sighed, pressing both palms against the stone to hide it in her hands as she thought.

The attention was… unexpected. She couldn’t think of a reason _why_ someone would put all this effort into this, why someone would put any effort into _her_. Five years of war and heartache left her scarred, and while there were many pretty, beautiful people in Pelican Town, they were far too young, far too innocent and hopeful.

Besides, she couldn’t think of a single person who was anywhere near interested in her to this extent. Friends, yes, but to pursue some sort of meaningful, romantic relationship? No.

And from what she understood from Virgil, the whole dating process-thing with the Republic was much blunter than that was being focused on her. Give the person of interest flowers, see if they say yes or no, and suddenly you were dating. Klo had various different methods and speeds, depending on the person and the region, but even then they were more upfront.

They actually _knew_ who the interested parties were.

Letting out a deep sigh, Valhalla opened her hands, gazing into the intricate patterns of the stone in her palm. She couldn’t let this continue. She was touched that someone would try, but she was too damaged. She had too many burdens and hurts, the war leaving physical and emotional trauma upon her. She wasn’t the same person as she had been in her youth, open for a pleasant encounter with near strangers. She loved the villagers, loved Virgil, loved the strange, quirky spirits and creatures she had met so far, but she didn’t deserve any in return. There was blood on her hands, deaths etched upon her soul, and it would be too cruel on her part to let them continue to try with this courtship, only to find out how very wrong they were to do so.

She had to stop this.

“Come on,” she murmured to Kiraz, her voice thick as she holed out a hand for the small spirit to clamber up so she could put it onto her shoulder before rising up from the porch step. Virgil had gone to the library to work with Gunther earlier that afternoon, leaving her alone in the house. The small cardboard boxes remained on the counter, untouched from after being opened and their contents taken out.

The spice tin was hidden up in one of the cupboards. She took it down and looked at the label for several seconds that made Kiraz burble with quiet concern in her ear.

“I need to do this,” she told it softly, taking the tin over and putting it back into the box. The Charoite came next, but that one took longer as she smoothed her fingers over its polished surface.

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to give them back. But this wasn’t about her and what she wanted. Valhalla couldn’t bear to hurt a person in the way that would happen if she let this continue. It would hurt them when she gave the gifts back, yes, but not as much as the other way would. They would get over it, find someone else, and she would be left alone.

Alone, for all the crimes she had committed. All the evils she had caused. It was what she deserved.

She ignored the concerned sound in her ear, the shaking in her hands and the burning in her eyes as she put the stone back into the box, tucking the lid shut.

They went back into the mailbox, the door sealing them away with a creak of rusty hinges. The noise made the experience entirely too real, and Valhalla angrily scrubbed at her face before forcing herself to turn away. She was being stupid. She had to do this. It was for the best. Getting all weepy over empty hope wasn’t going to change things.

Valhalla spent the afternoon outside, ignoring the heat and humidity as she took out the frustrations over herself on some trees that were dying and needed to come down before they fell down. Tiny little Kiraz had disappeared sometime after she roughly grabbed for the axe, and she had lost all concept of time until it had gotten too dark to see where she was even swinging and reluctantly went back to the house.

Virgil said nothing, but he did take the time to sit her down and pull the slivers out of her hands. He knew that asking now would give him no answers as Valhalla closed herself off completely.  It still didn’t make the furrow of his brow any less severe, or the concerned looks any softer, worried over her as much as she worried over him. But they knew each other too well, knew that when they locked themselves up that there was little else the other could do than simply give silent reassurances and comfort their silence and presence gave.

Both of them ended up sleeping on the couch again, Valhalla’s arms tucked around Virgil’s smaller frame and nose buried into his hair to ground herself into the present. Neither of them got much sleep, though.

The next morning was the hottest and the most humid that it ever had been since summer began. Virgil murmured something about rain as he looked out of the window with a mug of tea in his hands, but Valhalla only half heard him as she ambled out to water and harvest a collection of tomatoes.

Valhalla placed a tomato into the offering plate, her eyes drifting over to the mailbox. She half hoped that the two gifts would still be there, but the other, more bitter half of her wished that they were gone and that it would be over with. 

The hinges creaked as she cracked the door open ajar, peeking into the metal insides. The two boxes she had put in there before were gone. There was, however, another small box in its place, hiding in the far back.

Valhalla wanted to shut the door and pretend it didn’t exist. Should have, needed to, but there was something aromatic that had filled the tiny space, something far too familiar that set a heavy weight of nostalgia in her heart.

It was a box of spiced cocoa, hand-made and hand-wrapped. It was the same kind her father used to make for the long hours he spent pouring over his work, the very same that her mother and then herself used to make for the others of their family when they couldn’t sleep in the late night.

A droplet of water fell onto the tiny wooden box, then another as Valhalla cradled it in her hands, tears dripping down her cheeks.

“This has to stop,” she whispered, mostly to herself in vain hope that she would listen. She couldn’t accept this, she couldn’t keep leading this stranger on, couldn’t keep letting them creep further into her heart without actually knowing them. All these gifts were thoughtful, full of warmth that even she could feel it, but Valhalla had to make it stop.

But Valhalla couldn’t even get herself to put the small wooden box back into the mailbox. She stood frozen in front of it, holding the box in her hand and vision blurred with tears. Someone not only took the time to give her these things, but continued to give them to her despite the fact she had given the previous two gifts back. They were dedicated, but Valhalla didn’t deserve any of it.

Rubbing at her face with the back of her arm, Valhalla took a shaky breath before very slowly setting the cocoa back into the mailbox. She hadn’t had it in so long, but she couldn’t keep it, couldn’t consume it.

The mailbox door creaked shut as she pushed it closed, leaning against it for a moment to try to steady her emotions. This will be the last time, she was sure of it.

But the very next morning, with the sky thick with dark, stormy clouds, there was yet another box in the mail, with Virgil being the one to bring it in as Valhalla was elbow deep in soapy water doing dishes.

“You have another gift,” he told her, gently setting the box down beside her. She froze mid-scrub, staring at the package with wide eyes.

“Oh.”

“Do… do you want me to open it?”

“…Please.”

Valhalla tried her best to ignore the slight fumbling of fingers on cardboard as she fixed her gaze upon the plate in her hand. But even she couldn’t ignore the sharp intake of breath from the tiny young man beside her, or the strange, purple, star-shaped fruit that was in his hands that made the back of her neck prickle something eerie.

Valhalla dropped the plate with a splash back into the sink at the same time Virgil dropped the fruit back into the box. They stared at the package for several tense seconds before Valhalla licked her lips.

“What… what was that?”

“It’s… a Stardrop,” Virgil stated slowly, his tone incredulous as he still tried to wrap his head around the fact. “They… how in the world did they get a hold of this…?”

“I suppose… if they can get a really fancy rock, they can get a fancy fruit?” Valhalla tried to bring humor into her words, but they were flat in her own ears. Virgil gave her a sideways glance, his lips pressing into a thin line. Valhalla’s shoulders hunched in response, her eyes casting down towards the cracked plate at the bottom of the sink.

“Put it back into the mailbox.”

“Valhalla-“

“No, Virgil!” She winced at how sharp her words came out, how Virgil flinched something terrible at the tone as he stared at her with wide, slightly panicked eyes.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she pulled her hands out of the sink, water dripping onto the floor undenounced to the both of them.

“Virgil, please, this can no longer continue. These gifts are nice, but I cannot accept them. I… it is best for whoever it is that is sending them to stop. I already put the others back into the box. I cannot take them. I _cannot_.”

Virgil slowly eased the tenseness out of his shoulders after a minute of silence, his eyes dropping as he began to wring his fingers around his wrist in an absent habit.

“You should write a note,” he murmured to her, his chin on his chest as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I… I think whoever is sending them to you won’t stop until you do. They might not know your intentions of sending the items back.”

Valhalla sank quietly to her knees, ignoring the slight flinch as she wrapped her arms around Virgil and pulled him closer, the water on her arms soaking into his shirt.

“I will, thank you,” she replied softly into his ear. “I’m sorry for snapping. I… I simply don’t understand why they are even trying.”

She felt Virgil shift a bit in her hold, not in attempt to escape but an uneasy resetting of his footing as thin arms gradually wrapped around her torso the best they could.

“I think… they feel that you deserve to be happy,” he replied, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “But I don’t… I don’t know. No one’s never…” He trailed off, uncertain as to how to continue, and Valhalla simply squeezed him a little closer to her. He wasn’t one to give advice on such things, and while he wanted to help, both of them were too far out of their depths to give any proper response to this.

But Valhalla couldn’t accept his words, even if she really wanted to. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Virgil, who rarely smiled, flinched and fidgeted with anxiety more than he was comfortable. Valhalla felt as though she had her chance and lost it in the war with Gotoro, and, along with her father, could never get it back.

And so once Virgil eventually slipped back up the steps to his room to once again bury himself in his books- referencing something for Gunther or what she could make out of his mumblings- Valhalla leaned against the counter and buried her face into her hands.

This was becoming far too much.

Letting her hands drop to her sides, Valhalla glanced over at the box with the strange fruit. She wanted to try it, curious as to what it was, what it tasted like, but that part of her was quickly crushed under the many reasons why she shouldn’t. Because it was a gift, because she shouldn’t have it. She wasn’t entirely sure what a Stardrop was, but there was little point in learning now.

Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out a pen, gazing at the box for a solid minute before slowly etching words onto the lid.

_No more. Please._

Carefully as she could, Valhalla put the lid down onto the box, carrying it back out to the mailbox as the first drops of rain clinked against the metal.

Kiraz appeared on top of the mailbox as she gently closed it, leaving the box inside. The tiny Junimo let out a small, sad little warble, trying to push the door back open.

“No, Kiraz,” Valhalla told the spirit gently, holding her hand against the door so that it couldn’t open. “I have to do this. Please.”

The Junimo lifted its eyes to her, wide, beady and _sad_ , its spindly limbs drooping with its emotions. Valhalla sighed, closing her eyes for a moment so that she couldn’t see the sorrowful sight.

“I don’t want to, but I must,” she told the spirit softly, offering a hand out so that it could climb on. “I am not worth this much.”

The look the spirit gave her made her turn her eyes away, pushing the tiny thing up onto her shoulder where she couldn’t see it, swallowing a large lump in her throat as she made her way back towards the shelter of the farmhouse while thick droplets of rain began to fall onto the parched earth, hoping for the last time that this was over, and that the other person would move on.

Who would ever love a killer anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift 1: strict translation of "the receiver's worth", usually something expensive. Charoite.  
> Gift 2: a slice of home (of the sender's). A made-up spice, Haab.  
> Gift 3: a slice of home (of the receiver's). Spiced Cocoa.  
> Gift 4: a magical surprise. Stardrop.  
> Gifts 5-?: unknown.


	24. A Close Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla plays a dangerous game of hide-and-seek with government officials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, what, the third chapter this week? I've been finding time to sit down and write a lot, but please don't get too comfortable! I may end up taking longer again as school progresses. I just hope I'm not writing these too fast, or that I'm losing all sense in my words. 
> 
> This chapter's slightly longer than the last, and brushes against the reality that Valhalla is, in fact, illegally present in the Valley. 
> 
> Warnings: some minor injuries and hypothermia.

The gifts finally stopped, and yet, Valhalla couldn’t help but feel sad whenever she looked at the mailbox and found nothing inside. It was for the best, she knew, but it didn’t make it easier.

Virgil seemed to have picked up on the melancholy, and had gone out of his way to bring his work down to areas where she could see him instead of being pent up inside his room. He still didn’t sleep nearly as much as she would like him to, spending the night with his nose in books, but it was nice to look up from her weeding of the crops and see his vibrant hair poke out from behind the pages as he sat on the porch steps.

Working the land became more of a dance between the rainclouds for the couple of days that followed. The heat and humidity had finally turned into summer storms, thunder rolling across the dark skies and wind buffeting the trees. Heavy rainfall had flattened her flowers, and Valhalla had to scramble to keep her other crops from suffering. Even the bees in the apiary thought it was best to stay inside when the clouds drifted in, but Valhalla tended to the crops regardless of what the weather was doing.

It was almost startling to see so much precipitation in so little time. Back home, a season would go by with only one or two heavy storms and nothing more. But here, the rains came in and they seemed to stay, pouring all morning and night with only brief lapses between storms. Sometimes she found herself staring out the window to watch it, hoping it didn’t flood them out. Yet the creek rose over its banks, little streams of water trickled through her crops, but no further damage was done other than perhaps a very wet footbridge.

The real danger came, not from flooding, but from Virgil shaking her awake from a partial doze one cool, cloudy morning, his eyes wide with panic and fear.

“Valhalla, you need to leave,” he hissed out, his voice hushed and slightly strangled as he kept glancing towards the front door.

Dread immediately settled into her stomach as she rolled off the couch, landing on the balls of her feet with the silence of a cat as she listened. There were people outside. One- no, two, heading towards the front door.

“I can keep them distracted as long as I can,” Virgil whispered. “But you need to get out of this house.”

“Stay safe,” Valhalla replied back, giving Virgil a squeeze to his shoulder before she slunked towards the back door, keeping low so that anyone trying to peek through the windows would miss her.

Bare toes touched wet grass as she snuck out of the back door, shutting it as softly as she could without giving away her position. She couldn’t sneak towards the woods out back- she would be spotted by the people at the front, and most of the footbridges over the stream were flooded over. There was the path that led up into the mountains, and that was perhaps her best bet.

Yet that path too was deemed unsafe as she hopped over the shale wall to hide as a man walked down the path from higher up, his clothes too nice to be out for a nice stroll through the countryside. His posture, however, gave him away as a man on high alert of his surroundings, looking for any signs of something out of the ordinary. The way his hand drifted towards his hip also gave him away of being armed, and Valhalla didn’t need to think twice as to why exactly he was carrying a weapon on him.

The man’s steps drew to a slow stop, and Valhalla held her breath, keeping herself low as she peered through the branches of the brush around her. It snapped her directly into the mindset of the warfront, hiding and waiting for the enemy patrols to pass. They may have caught her unaware, but she was used to working on the fly. And these weren’t military people, but perhaps far worse in the current situation.

The man’s observations were cut short before his feet could turn towards her direction as something very large leapt out of the bushes on the other side of the path. Agrion’s large form stood, hackles raised and teeth bared as he snarled at the man, forcing him to take a step back and out of immediate snapping range. Valhalla took the chance to move, leaves crackling slightly underfoot as she moved through the thicket until she was out of sight before she burst out and began to run the rest of the way through the trees.

She burst out of the tree line and onto the designated area of the bus stop. The road had three extra cars that accompanied the bus- too expensive and clean to be anything belonging to anyone from the town. Three people were accounted for, but she knew that no one simply drove their car alone, especially people from the government.

So instead of taking the road, Valhalla jumped over the fence and into the trees on the other side of the path that led to down, ignoring the branches and thorny brambles that caught her skin and clothes as she plowed on through the wilds towards town.

It was still early morning, the town barely stirring awake when Valhalla came flying over a bush, bare feet hitting cobblestone hard. She took the moment to give herself a breath, eyes flitting as she tried to think of a place to hide.

She only came to town because few would ever expect a fugitive to run _towards_ civilization. It was why she scrapped the thought of taking the path town to hide in Marnie’s pastures, or even further towards Rasmodius’ tower. And with other people unaccounted for, she couldn’t be too careful in assuming that the more obvious paths towards the wilds would be under scrutiny, especially when one man had already walked the mountain paths.

The beach was far too open, and hiding in someone’s home would get them in trouble if anyone came to physically search. Valhalla had few choices, but she knew to make do with what she had.

It was why she crept across a small graveyard and around the bushes and flowerpots, only ducking her head behind a house and changing course when she spotted an unfamiliar man at Lewis’ doorstep, talking to the older mayor who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded, the furrow in his brow accenting his wrinkles.

No one would look for her in town, Valhalla reasoned as she made her way to the bridge that led over towards the other side of the small village. No one would especially think to look for her under a bridge with waters high and dark with sediment either. It was dangerous, crazy, but Valhalla wasn’t planning on getting taken by the Republic’s Immigration and Customs Enforcers.

The water was positively _freezing_ as she slipped her feet in, the water coming up higher and higher towards her neck as she forced her way through the current and under the bridge. She gritted her teeth as her feet caught something sharp and the dirty water stung against the scrapes and scratches from her wild run through the trees, but she made not a sound as she dug her fingers into the brickwork of the underside of the bridge behind a brace.

She could barely hear over the sound of the rushing water, not unless someone was right overhead, which she got her chance as Lewis came walking over the bridge with two other sets of feet, in a rather heated debate.

“There is no need to- to _harass_ the townsfolk with this! People are still sleeping!” he stressed. “If I _knew_ of anyone of your description, I would _tell_ you!”

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

Gunther’s voice cut through the argument before Lewis could carry on, catching the ends of his words when he came out to open the library.

“Ah, Mr. Conmara-“

“ _Doctor_ Conmara,” Gunther stressed, his tone shifting to that that Valhalla could only describe as cold. She adjusted her grip on the brick before her, already starting to lose feeling in her toes. “Yet you already knew that, didn’t you, Officer Rand? After all, you were the one who took quite an interest over my citizenship papers when I came to this country. Something about how my passport being a shade off in color?”

“Someone has to have the critical eye when foreigners come into the Republic. In this day and age, anyone can be an enemy spy,” the officer in question sniffed, unapologetic. “But fortunate for you, we are not here for you. We are looking for a dangerous fugitive that has been reported the immediate area of this… fine town.”

Valhalla could hear the sneer in his voice, could almost see it if she wasn’t chin-deep in cold water. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering, huddling close to the support strut as she strained to listen over the rushing water.

“Well, instead of running around all over town and disturbing the peace, perhaps you should consider a town meeting. That way we all understand the situation and can provide means of assistance,” Gunther pressed, almost pointedly at someone. That someone being Lewis, who clapped his hands together.

“Of course! We can do that, gentlemen! I will get everyone situated at Pierre’s in an hour!”

Lewis’ footsteps went across the bridge and disappeared, leaving the Enforcers with Gunther.

“Now then, since you are so very bright, _Doctor,”_ Rand drawled, his words as slippery as algae as he addressed Gunther. “Perhaps in your _wild adventures_ in this quaint little town, you have met a Jahangir Shadhavar?”

Valhalla nearly inhaled water, at her sharp intake of breath, forcing herself to grip onto the brick before the water whisked her away, the mortar cutting into her fingertips. She had been right- they _had_ been looking for her. And they knew where she was, but how-?

The Luau, Valhalla realized with a jolt. There had been strangers at the festival. Even if the townsfolk had good intentions at heart, the visitors had no such thing. Someone must have reported her presence, or that of a Gotoro refugee to the authorities. They had taken one look at her sharp ears and immediately called it in as soon as they got home. An enemy, a _monster_ that their reports so happily portrayed them to be, could not possibly live amongst _normal_ people of Ferngill freely.

“A Shadhavar?” Gunther’s voice pulled Valhalla out of her thoughts, a hum low in his throat that she could barely catch. “The Shadhavars are a powerful family of Klo, I remember from my time studying there. Why are you looking for one here, in Pelican Town of all places?”

“This isn’t a game, Conmara,” Rand growled. “Jahangir is a dangerous, violent _rogue_. She disappeared from the front lines, and not because she did another stint in the war camps. The military specifically tasked us to find her, having good word that she is no longer in the Gotoro Campaign- nor is she on the continent proper.”

“So why assume that she is here? There are plenty of islands and other nations between the Empire and the Republic to seek shelter in.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rand snapped, his patience leaving him with what little manners he possessed in the first place as his steps moved closer to invade Gunther’s space. “What does matter is that I _know_ she’s here, and this pathetic little hovel in the middle of nowhere better start coughing up answers, or else you will all be charged with aiding and sheltering a war criminal. And the first person I’d gladly lock up is _you_.”

“Um… sir?”

A timid voice barely registered to Valhalla’s ears, near the other end of the bridge. Rand stepped away and towards the other Enforcer, but their words were too hushed to pick out anything more than a hissed:

“What do you means you can’t find her?!”

The occupants of the bridge eventually walked further off, but not before “escorting” Gunther off of it since Rand didn’t had a shred of belief that Gunther could walk to Pierre’s without causing some sort of trouble. Valhalla waited well beyond the recession of their footsteps, even though she could no longer feel her fingers and most of her body for that matter. She nearly slipped under the water when she went to let go of the brick, her limbs cramping in the cold and injuries protesting as she scraped against yet another sharp edge before she managed to haul herself up the edge of the bank.

She laid on the shore for several seconds, trying to remember how to breathe and work her legs on dry ground. It was only sheer force of will that made her get up instead of closing her eyes and falling asleep right then and there, wincing at blood dripped down from a long scratch down her leg and prying open barely-scabbed over injuries on her feet as she dragged herself around the library.

The farthest she could go was Clint’s, where she collapsed into an old mining cart that had remnants of coal sitting in dark, soggy rain water that filled the bottom. She couldn’t care less, curling up in the black rain water to make herself as small as possible as she took in shuddering breaths, shivering.

What was she going to do now? The others will now know exactly who she was, what she had done. Even if they did not know her name, they would know whom the Enforcers were referring to, being the only person fitting the description they had in the entirely of Stardew Valley. Dr. Harvey knew of her full name, Sam and Jodi knew of her past, and Gunther must’ve pieced everything together the moment she set foot into town.

Yet will they remain quiet? She knew Virgil would, having complete and utter trust in the short young man, but everyone else? She didn’t know how far their ties to community went, how much they thought of her. They could smile and comfort her all they want, but in the end, would they stand up for her?

Valhalla must’ve zoned out, or faded for a second, because the next thing her ears caught were the sound of voices farther away.

“Did Valhalla really do those things?” A young voice- Alex- was the first she could pick out his tone uncertain.

“It is war, Alex,” Gunther replied with a soft sigh. “You do what you must to survive.”

“She’s a good person,” Clint was the next to say. “That’s why we all didn’t say nothing. Them Enforcers were worse than slime balls. We all knew, from the moment Valhalla got here, that not everything was as it seemed, but she’s a good sort. They made her out to be some sort of… I don’t know…”

“A deranged homicidal maniac?” Alex imputed, a slight hint of attempted humor in his voice. “That’s why I was so confused. No killer I’ve heard of goes off and starts a farm and goes out of her way to be genuinely nice to people. Just glad ol’ Morris wasn’t here, he’d- Gunther? What’cha looking at?”

The voices fell away for a moment, before grass shifted underfoot as feet came closer to her hiding spot. She cracked her eye open and shifted her head, trying to get her vision to focus when a face appeared over the edge of the cart, the fuzzy blue shape all too familiar to her.

“Hi,” she tried to say, her voice croaking and hoarse. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Alex and a small curse from Clint as they joined the blurred blue. “How’s Virgil?”

Her vision spun as multiple hands reached in, all three of them working to pull her muddy, wet form out of the mining cart.

“Virgil’s fine,” Gunther murmured softly as they set her down on the grass for a moment. “I can send Alex over to check on him when we get you inside.”

“Make sure he eats something,” Valhalla’s head dropped back, clunking hard against the mining cart in order to look at Alex’s worried face. “He will be a nervous mess and forget.”

“Yeah. I… he can spend the night at my grandparent’s place,” Alex replied, his face pale as he took a glance down at the cut running down her leg, red oozing out from the caked mud and black soot.

“Mhm.”

Valhalla didn’t quite remember much as to how she got from the cart to inside the library, the scent of books stirring her out of the black haze as the three of them carried her down the stairs.

“She’s hypothermic,” came a quiet murmur as she was set down into what turned out to be a tub once she got her eyes to function partially.

“Bad time for the doctor to get an emergency in Redwood,” Clint muttered.

There were other words, but Valhalla couldn’t focus on them. She rested her cheek against the ceramic edge of the tub, her vision fading for a bit before she got them to refocus, just as both Clint and Alex left- Alex to check up on Virgil, and Clint being sent off to get Maru so he could get something from the clinic.

She could barely feel the water as Gunther turned it on, his coat and hat discarded and sleeves rolled up as he knelt down beside the tub, rinsing off the mud and grime she had collected in her frantic bid of escape from the authorities.

“Please stay with me,” Gunther said softy, a wet hand resting against her cheek. Valhalla felt her eyelids flutter a little, the image of the man focusing into view for a brief moment before it turned fuzzy at the edges again.

“’ll try,” was all she could say, her lips feeling heavy and her tongue immoveable.

“That’s all I wish,” he replied, his thumb stroking against her cheek before he went back to cleaning out the wounds.

He was still wearing those stupid glasses, Valhalla realized belatedly, her gaze fixating upon the polished blue glass. It took all her strength to lift her arm high enough to hook her finger around the ear piece, causing Gunther to pause as gravity took its course and her hand dropped back to the ceramic, the spectacles clattering along with it.

“…stupid,” she managed to get out as golden eyes turned to her. “’y’re pretty.”

“Even while I’m trying to keep you from getting an infection, you still find ways to compliment,” Gunther chuckled softly, shaking his head as he pulled the glasses off the bottom of the tub, setting them down on the floor instead.

Valhalla gave him a lopsided smile before her eyes drooped shut again, her fingers and toes tingling as feeling crept back into them with every beat of her heart and the water gradually growing warmer. She stirred into consciousness once more when the water eventually stopped and hands began to lift the edge of her shirt upward.

“You’re eager,” she mumbled, the corners of her lips curling upward.

“You can’t stay in wet clothes, Valhalla,” came the slightly exasperated huff, but she could hear the smile working its way onto his face in his voice without even having to open her eyes.

“Mhm.”

It took effort to sit up enough to let Gunther help get the soaked, dirty clothes off her. He didn’t have anything that fit her, but she eventually found herself wrapped up in a thick blanket and out of the bathroom. She didn’t know how he managed to carry her by himself, but she didn’t care, nestled into the warm blankets with only her legs uncovered just in time for Clint to return with Maru baring antiseptic and bandages to properly take care of her injures.

Valhalla didn’t stay awake for any of that, though, her nose pressed against the soft fabric around her and breathing in the comforting scent.

It smelled a bit like the tin of spice she had found in her mailbox days ago.  


	25. Gunther's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla and Gunther have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written far too much for this story in the last week, but I can't seem to stop myself. 
> 
> @kaigoe: The answer to your question is; it's complicated and will be covered eventually. c:<
> 
> Thank you for all the support so far, though! This chapter we finally get tO THE GOOD STUFF. And remember, feel free to bother me on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Enjoy!

The scent of spiced cocoa stirred her from her unconsciousness, the aroma so distinctive that Valhalla’s first thought was that she was home, and from the dull ache in her feet and legs that she had just went through one hell of a training session.

“ _Mother…?_ ” The inquiry came out mumbled, thick in her native tongue as she resisted the urge to move. Moving meant everything else will hurt, and she was bundled up nice and warm and _safe_.

A low chuckle made her exposed ear twitch, her brows scrunching together. It was unfamiliar to anyone of her family, so who…?

“Not quite.”

She wasn’t home. She hadn’t been home in years. Virgil. The enforcers. _Gunther_.

Her eyes snapped open in a heartbeat. The room was surprisingly dimly lit, so the light didn’t hurt her eyes. Her vision was uneven for a brief moment before she could focus on the man who was setting a steaming mug down onto the dark, polished surface of a carved nightstand.

“Good evening,” came the soft murmur, Gunther lingering near the bedside for second before sitting down on the edge, the mattress sinking under his added weight on that side. His signature hat, coat, and gloves were missing, as well as the ridiculous blue-glass lenses. He looked odd in the white button-up, but at the same time more… real. “How are you feeling?”

“I-“ Valhalla tried to sit up, to shift, but made a face as a sharp, stinging ache raced up her leg. Any further movement was halted by a hand on her shoulder, warm against her skin.

“Here,” Gunther’s voice was soft, breath tickling her ear as he helped her sit up properly without putting too much stress on her legs and feet. The blankets shifted from her shoulders, pooling around her chest. The fabric was strangely soft, like the silks back home, only less slippery and warmer. She ran her fingers absently over it, her eyes drifting over to the mug on the nightstand.

“Where… did you get spiced cocoa?”

“Isabella. She’s a “refined travelling merchant”, but actually smuggles and sells goods from Gotoro. She comes by every once in a while and can get me some things I’m nostalgic for from my own home cheaper. I… simply asked for a favor.”

As he spoke, he reached over to pick up the drink in question, setting the mug gently into her hands. Her fingers instinctively curled around the warm ceramic, holding it close. But her eyes were no longer on the mug, drifting up to look at Gunther’s face.

He had a calm visage, something about the shape of his face, the warm color of his skin, and the shape of his eyes that made them appear naturally narrower than the locals that made her admire his features- ones that she never noticed with his blue spectacles. Without them, he became less eccentrically mysterious and more knowledgeably mysterious, as if he knew the secrets of the world but he himself remained elusive to the world.

But Valhalla knew something then, drawing a connection and understanding that made sense to everything.

“You were the one sending me things,” she breathed out, the realization hitting her as hard as a punch to the gut.

His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as his lips tugged upward into a small, kind smile.

“I was,” he admitted, and the gentleness in his gaze made her drop her eyes back to the dark, warm liquid of the spiced cocoa that she had yet to touch.

“But… why?”

Her words came out a bit more choked than she would like, small and fragile. She had sent the gifts back, every single one of them, and yet he still took her into his own home to patch her up after her stint in the river and made her spiced cocoa- probably the very same that had been in her mailbox all those days ago.

Valhalla could handle a physical confrontation, could handle weeks in a war camp being tortured. But she couldn’t handle this kind of emotional attachment, or openness for attachment. Virgil was different because he became something of family in her eyes. Not quite a child, but still a child in her heart, someone to take care of. But this? This was a relationship she never thought of having, not even before the war. She had been too open and free in her physical relationships then, and now she was simply far too scarred for such things.

Warm hands curled over hers around the mug, causing her to lift her gaze upward. Gunther had moved closer, leaning into her space without being intrusive. The proximity was a comfort, a familiar gesture, and paired with the scent of the cocoa, it shot a sudden yearning for home into her heart and a burning itchiness in her eyes.

Gunther’s golden gaze remained soft, even as his eyebrows pulled together in quiet concern.

“Jahangir,” he began, the use of her real name and the tenderness of the way he whispered it made it harder to keep herself together. “You are a strong, beautiful woman. You have been through so many hardships, and yet with the weight of the world on your shoulders, you continue to persevere and treat mere strangers around you with a kindness that is unparalleled.”

His hands moved away from her own, reaching up to cup her face instead. Thumbs gently smoothed over her cheekbones, and she realized then that a few tears had slipped free from her efforts not to break down.

“Ever since you had come here, I was intrigued. And every day I saw you, I couldn’t help but become a little more captivated. Every shard about you I found I treasure, no matter how sharp the edges were or how brittle they had become. You are _beautiful_ , not only in physical appearance, but in heart and soul as well. I wish to see you- to _understand_ you- a little more clearly, scars and all.”

The pads of Gunther’s thumbs traced across her skin as Valhalla took in a shuddering breath, a lump in her throat and tears no longer prevented in forming in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks.

“I _killed_ people,” she choked out. “I killed _children_. I did unspeakable things in the war, I-I can’t- I’m not _worth_ it.

Gunther’s fingers slid from her face, the chill in their absence making her shiver and eyes prickle with more sorrow. But instead of pulling away completely, his face remained gentle and eyes kind as he carefully pried the cooling mug from her hands and set it onto the nightstand. His fingers threaded through hers, stroking against her knuckles as his forehead rested against her own, making a soft, hushing sound as she tried to swallow down a shaky sob.

“You are more than worth it,” he replied with quiet honesty. “And not just because of your name and prestige. I wished to know you more before I even knew your true name, and what you had done to survive and fight for your country doesn’t even begin to turn me away.”

“But I gave everything back! S-shouldn’t you be mad…?”

“I could never. Your decision was yours, regardless of the reasons why. I know it may have been a bit sudden, but I wished to see you happy. I learned how much it tore you apart, and that was not my intentions, so I stopped when you asked. My feelings for you never changed.”

Valhalla couldn’t keep it down any longer. A strangled sob escaped her throat, closing her eyes tight in vain hopes of keeping her tears from soaking into the blanket. She felt Gunther move, his fingers unthreading from hers to gently guide her head into his shoulder. Her own fingers buried into the back of his shirt, almost pulling him directly into her lap as she clung to him as if he was her last lifeline.

“Can I touch your hair?” came the soft whisper in her ear, and she jerked her head into something akin to a nod. It was enough to get the message through, as warm fingertips carded down her scalp, soothing and gentle as she cried. The whiskers of his goatee brushed against her temple as he pressed his lips to it, quiet reassurances murmured against her skin.

The mug on the side table had long since gone cold by the time Valhalla calmed down enough, although her breaths were still shaky.

“Sorry,” she mumbled into Gunther’s shoulder, her fingers loosening from his shirt, but still helplessly holding on.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” he replied softly, and she couldn’t help but snort a little despite herself.

“You sound like Rasmodius.”

“Rasmodius is a smart man- when he has his moments.”

Valhalla actually laughed, which surprised even herself as the sound bubbled out from her lips before she could help it. She could feel a smile creeping onto Gunther’s face as well from the proximity of his mouth to her temple.

“Can- can I have that spiced cocoa now?” 

“It is a bit cold now,” Gunther replied, but he loosened his hold on her, and she let her hands drop away from his shirt to free his mobility.

“It can be drunk either way.” And to taste the slightly bitter, slightly spicy, and slightly chocolatey agglomeration that was spiced cocoa once again on her tongue as soon as the mug was placed into her hands was something that soothed her frayed emotions. Gunther’s presence rooted her in his warmth, tethering her together after being so thoroughly broken apart.

“ _Sands_ ,” she whispered in her native language, setting the mug in her lap. “I… haven’t had this in years…”

Valhalla trailed off, uncertain of how to proceed further. Her fingers tapped against the ceramic, until a hand covered the top.

“Would you like another?”

“…Please.”

Gunther smiled and rose from the bed, taking the empty mug with him through a narrow doorway, leaving Valhalla alone to observe the bedroom for the first time.

It was dark and cozy, with hardwoods covered in deep, rich stains and carved patterns. Everything seemed both old and timeless at the same time, with the soft lighting in the room benefited by a kerosene lamp despite the fact that there were electrical lights. The floors had several woven rugs, one of which she recognized immediately from her own homeland in its pattern. The furnishings must all be from his travels.

Her eyes were drawn to the mahogany dresser with a bird carved into the upmost drawer, familiar clothing folded neatly on top. Her own clothing, cleaned from the mud and soot from her hasty escape.

Pushing the blankets off her, Valhalla swung her legs over the edge of the bed and immediately regretted every thought of moving. Pain shot up through her feet into her legs and up her spine, causing her to grit her teeth to keep her from reacting verbally. Her feet were covered in bandages, and she knew from how her skin pulled with every movement that the long scratch up the side of her calf was definitely stitched up.

But despite how much she wanted to simply crawl back under the covers, Valhalla had to at least put her clothes back on. It would make her feel a little more like a person again.

It was with pure will and biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood that let her cross the short space to the dresser. Putting them on was a different challenge altogether. She managed to get her trousers on somehow, even though she wanted to curse something fierce with every movement that sent sharp aches through both her legs, more so on her left with the extra injury.

It was when she was beginning to pull her shirt over her head when she felt eyes on her back. Valhalla paused, turning her head to peek over her shoulder at Gunther in surprise. She was sure she would’ve heard him enter, but here he was, mug slowly being set back down onto the nightstand with steam curling upward from its contents, eyes on her.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he told her, but there was no scolding in his tone, just a simple statement.

“You just wanted to see me naked in your bed again,” Valhalla replied with a touch of snark, turning her head forward again so that she could finish putting her shirt on.

The strange, sudden bark of a laugh from behind her made her lips curl upward into a grin on the inside of her shirt.

“I forget how blunt your people are,” Gunther retorted back, his mouth pulled into a lopsided smile as well and eyes glinting with mirth as he stepped closer towards her. “I should have expected as much. But regardless of your… state of dress… you shouldn’t be on your feet. Miss Blackwell will kill me if the only patient under her care while Dr. Harvey is away worsened her injuries under my roof.”

“I had worse,” Valhalla muttered, but accepted the shoulder Gunther provided with good grace. Even with her weight on him, she had to grit her teeth and breathe through her nose to keep herself from making any sound of pain that throbbed through every nerve in the lower half of her body.

It was with relief that she made it back to the bed, her legs stiff and a wince permanent on her face as she slowly moved them up to the mattress. Valhalla bit her tongue, but managed to shift herself over just a bit more, making room for one more person.

“Sit with me,” she murmured, her tone softer than before as the pain began to ebb away gradually, patting the bed beside her with a hand. Gunther hesitated for only a second before he settled down, bringing his legs up to lay them beside hers and shoulders rubbing together.

The new mug of spiced cocoa was placed in her hands, and Valhalla gave him a small smile of gratitude before lifting it to her lips, the taste and scent soothing her. She then set it back into Gunther’s hands, his fingers curling around the ceramic and meeting her eyes with confusion.

“This drink is best shared,” she told him, her eyes dropping from his gaze and down to her own hands which she folded in her lap. “Mother used to make it for us, and I had made it for my siblings. It is… comforting.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Gunther lifted the mug upward, the swallow low in her ears. He set the ceramic onto one knee, propping it up with a hand as the other moved to gently cover her own.

“I am truly sorry for what pain I have caused you,” he whispered, his face and eyes expressing such honest sorrow that it made the lump in her throat return. “I did not mean to bring such sorrow with my gifts.”

“They were thoughtful and mean well,” Valhalla replied, her voice choking a little as she turned his hand over, taking it between her own and traced his palm with her fingertips. There was a note of deep, heartfelt gratitude in her words that couldn’t be conveyed in any language. The cocoa he had given her did hurt with how much she yearned of what once was, but it reminded her of her family, that they were still out there, wherever they may be, and that she wasn’t forgetting herself in the novelty of her new life. She was doing this for them, for what could be when the dust settled.

They fell silent after that, basking in the warmth of each other and left in their own thoughts. Valhalla followed the curvature of his hand with gentle fingers, exploring his skin with feathery touches.

“You have strong hands,” she murmured, breaking the silence as she followed the pale line of one of many tiny scars that ran across his fingertips and over his palm. The told of a man who worked hard, but the softness of his skin regaled of how he turned towards more delicate work.

“I used to do archeology in the field,” Gunther’s voice replied softly in her ear, leaning closer against her shoulder as his gaze joined hers of his hand, his fingers relaxed in her hold. “Sometimes we went to places that we were not meant to be. Finding treasure and artifacts has its thrills, but many of my companions had no qualms in pocketing their discoveries. I decided to turn to curating instead, when it became too much. Protecting and preserving the treasures of history, to tell their stories, it is far more worthy than to simply stash them away for my own greed.”

“You are a good man, Gunther.” And Valhalla meant every word of it, lifting her gaze so deep purple met brilliant gold.

“And you are a good woman,” he replied, his hand turning to thread his fingers through hers. “I see it, even if you doubt yourself.”

Setting the mug between his knees, Gunther moved his arm, turning her hand over so place something cool and smooth into her palm. Her fingers naturally curled around it, dropping her gaze in slight surprise as she focused in on the familiar purple stone that now rested in her hold.

“You need not to answer now,” he began softly, both his hands moving to cover her fingers around the Charoite. “But I wish for you to have it, regardless of your choice.”

And his expression was open and honest, hopeful but gentle in its understanding. Valhalla could see him clearly in his eyes, how much he felt for her despite how little they knew of each other. He was risking with this second chance, knowing full well she could refuse, but did so anyway. He was opening his heart to her in the face of everything, and Valhalla…

Valhalla couldn’t help but admire, her fingers curling a little firmer around the Charoite, her eyes meeting his, and right then they both knew the answer without uttering a single word or making a simple gesture.

And, perhaps, her scarred heart and tattered soul had taken another step down the long road to recovery, guided by the gentle, unconditional warmth of Gunther’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -bangs pots together- wE'RE FINALLY HERE. 25 CHAPTERS LATER. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading this far into the story! I honestly didn't believe I would even get this far considering my other projects that I have since abandoned or lost interest in. This one is alive and well and I hope to continue it to completion! I must thank every last one of you for your support, and that you will continue to support me as I continue this literary trainwreck to the unseeable end.


	26. Jahangir Shadhavar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla admits to a few things previously not known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Monatae: I hope you're feeling better! Thank you for the support in any case!  
> @kaigoe: <3
> 
> @ Everyone else: Thank you for all the support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story!
> 
> Warnings: Covering some family stuff, Valhalla expresses emotions once again, Abigail's vulgar mouth, late-night writing by the author, and there's some dirty jokes involved somewhere along the way. This chapter's yet another one of my special emotional roller coasters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Valhalla was a terrible patient. Gunther simply sighed, the corners of his lips threatening to pull into a smile, but the fact remained that Valhalla was entirely stubborn and refused to remain in bed and off her feet.

She managed to compromise with the man, pleased as punch despite her injuries throbbing dully with each heartbeat as she found the comfiest chair in the library proper, nestled inside the confinement of one of the strange, silky blankets that Gunther insisted on her having. Valhalla conceded, only because she was certain it was an excuse for him to come visit her and make sure she hadn’t been wandering through the aisles when she wasn’t supposed to- or so he claimed while tucking said blanket around her almost absent-mindedly.

Maru and Lewis were the first to come visit her, Gunther having barred visits and closed the library early for the day prior. Maru was making sure her stitches and cuts on her feet were healing while Harvey was still away, and Lewis was doing his mayor-ly duties in making sure one of his citizens were taking care for. He was worried, she knew from the look in his eye, but he didn’t pry, only patting her hand gently with an “Erwan would’ve done the same for you”.

Lewis also told her that Pam had been thoroughly scolded for dumping her empty beer bottles into the river, but from the slight exasperated tone in his voice, it wasn’t the first nor would it be the last time Pam had been shamed for doing so. Still, Valhalla simply told him not to go too hard on her, and the old man sighed deeply but agreed nevertheless.

Maru, meanwhile, brought in some sort of pasta dish in a plastic container during her check-up, saying that her mother would take care of her crops while she was recovering. Valhalla couldn’t say anything more but soft gratitude, even though in her mind made a note to make something spectacular for Robin when she was better.

It was within the hour when the next visitor came, pulling Valhalla’s attention up from the pages of an intriguing children’s book as a familiar freckled face tucked under her arm. A small huff of a laugh escaped her as she shifted over enough to let Virgil finish his task of wedging himself between herself and the arm of the thick, comfy chair, practically disappearing as she dropped the blanket over him as well.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” she asked her tiny friend, gauging the dark circles around his eyes.

There was a small shake of his head, and Valhalla sighed, threading her fingers through his hair gently. He probably spent the night awake and worrying, and then snuck out the door as soon as he was able to without being seen. She hoped that Alex and his family weren’t worrying too much over Virgil’s whereabouts.

“He’s out cold,” Gunther murmured when he came in to check in on her, Virgil asleep against her side.

“He worries far too much,” she replied back, her voice soft to not disturb the young man. Gunther simply smiled and tucked the blanket around her companion too, his fingers brushing against her arm for a tad longer than to be by accident before he was pulled away. Valhalla, however, had other ideas, gently grasping his wrist.

“You have been pacing,” she told him, and it was the truth. Gunther had been over to visit her no more than eight times since she had sat down, distracted from the work he should be doing instead of worrying over her.

Gunther had the decency to look a little sheepish, tugging the brim of his hat down to shadow his face.

He was worrying over her, Valhalla realized. Even if she hadn’t been up here, he would’ve been climbing down the stairs every twenty minutes or so to make sure she was still alive. Perhaps her stint in the water caused him some amount of fear for her sake.

Valhalla sighed softly through her nose, her gaze growing soft.

“May I braid your hair?”

The question surprised Gunther, from the way his muscle tensed under her fingers and his chin tilting up to peer at her from over the rim of his blue spectacles. It was still hard to focus on his eyes with those monstrosities on his nose, but she didn’t argue him for it now as she shifted her legs to make room on the floor between them for him to sit.

And Gunther did, but only after lifting his hat off his head, settling down between her feet, his back to her and head of long dark hair free for her to run her fingers through. It was a sign of silent trust, and Gunther knew this and allowed it. It made her feel warm as Valhalla threaded her fingers through the strands, easing it out from its tail to let it fall down over his shoulders.

“You have such beautiful hair,” she murmured, brushing it with slow movements so that she wouldn’t disturb Virgil sleeping beside her. “It is soft.”

“You have beautiful hair too,” Gunther replied gently. “It has grown a bit since you came here.”

Valhalla smiled a small, wane smile at the back of Gunther’s head, parting his hair with experienced hands. It was true that her hair had gotten longer, tickling her ears a little that was growing a bit too annoying. Before long she may have to wear some sort of bandana to keep it away from her sensitive ears. It still ached a little, knowing why she had cut it all off in the first place, but it had been years since her father passed, and now she was slowly but surely getting beyond the heartache, now that she was away from the war. Someday she would find peace with herself, but for now, she merely hummed and began to weave his hair.

“You know,” Valhalla began, a thought coming to mind as her sensitive ears pricked at the sound of the door opening and multiple familiar feet walking across the wooden planks of the floor in favor of speaking. “I quite like seeing you between my knees.”

She could practically see the grin forming across Gunther’s face as one of the four who came in through the door audibly choked.

“I do quite the thought of being between your knees,” he answered, pretending all in the world that they did not have an audience. His fingers were warm as they brushed gently across her bare ankle, the only action he could do while her fingers were threading his hair. “And there is a thrill in your fingers buried in my hair while I’m at it.”

There was a loud, gross snorting laughter that busted out from one of their inopportune visitors, Abigail leaning again a bookshelf for support as she howled. Sebastian looked positively scandalized, Sam was hiding his grin behind his hand, and Alex was turning an interesting shade of pink from where he stood awkwardly beside the other three, holding a tin in his hands.

Virgil, bless his heart, didn’t even stir.

“You two are such _dorks_!” Abigail wheezed, staggering over to plop into the nearest chair. “Don’t ever change, Val.”

Sebastian scuffed his feet as he was dragged by Sam to join Abigail while Alex hovered a bit, hesitating before setting the tin down on the nearest table before finding himself a chair as well.

“I see Virgil found his way here all right,” came the uncertain words, Alex’s eyes drifting over to the sleeping young man. “Grandma was worried when he was nowhere to be found.”

“He worries,” Valhalla answered, finishing the complex braid and tying it up with the elastic band she had kept around her wrist from where she pulled it out from Gunther’s hair. “He doesn’t sleep when he does, and then when he makes up his mind nothing can stop him.”

She gently ran her fingers over the weaved hair to smooth the loose strands before resting her hand on her knee. Gunther brushed against her ankle with a feathery touch before getting up from the floor, causing Abigail to whistle.

“Damn, you know how to braid,” she said, admiring the carefully threaded hair.

“I’ve had practice,” Valhalla smiled, although it faded quickly at the memories of her siblings, resting on her knee or on the floor before her, sometimes wiggling impatiently as she braided their hair before they grew old enough and practiced enough to do it on their own. How her mother, her _father_ , used to sit her on their laps, the ghosting impression of strong hands through her hair.

“Can you braid mine?”

Valhalla blinked the melancholy away, her gaze lifting to stare at Abigail’s face in shock.

“Hair is a respected part of the Klo people,” Gunther explained gently while Valhalla tried to recover. “It is… a sign of complete trust, to let another touch it.”

“So?” Abigail shrugged, beaming. “You’re my friend, Val. I trust you. Even if them snooty guys in suits stomp in and say terrible things.”

“They were right, though,” Valhalla mumbled, her shoulders hunching as she dropped her eyes to the floor. “I have done things that are… inexcusable.”

Her vision was blocked by wavy purple hair, Abigail plopping down on the floor where Gunther had just vacated.

“I don’t care if your name is Valhalla or… or Johan… or whatever. Or that you killed some people and then left. Fuck, I would’ve left too. Seen the pictures on the news I have to read for my Government 101 class and honestly Gotoro is a shitstorm. And they want to throw you back because you decided you didn’t want that anymore? Fuck them.”

Valhalla felt tears burn in the corners of her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away, distracting herself by carefully brushing her fingers through the wild strands of purple with slightly shaky fingers.

“It’s Jahangir,” she replied softly. “Jahangir Shadhavar.”

“The one guy was pretty hooked up on that fact,” Sam butted in. “The Shadhavar bit. Is your family… important or something? Sebastian tried looking it up, but honestly your entire country doesn’t show up more than on a list or two and a generic map.”

Valhalla glanced over at Gunther, who had placed his hat back onto his head. He met her eye, giving her a small nod before turning his attention to the young adults.

“The Shadhavars are a pretty significant family,” he explained, drawing their attention to him. “They specialized in raising mounts for their version of Special Forces for generations.”

“Mounts? Like… horses?” Alex’s looked confused as he spoke.

“They are… a bit like griffons,” Gunther tried to explain, causing Sebastian’s eyes to widen.

“With heads of jackals. Built for speed. Run faster than any car and steep, speedy dives,” Valhalla added, carefully beginning the braid.

“Woah,” Sebastian breathed. “Are you serious?”

“That sounds way cooler than an old horse!” Abigail piped up.

“They are very valuable. I know that… both Gotoro and Ferngill have desired to get them.”

“But your dad didn’t let them?”

Sam sucked in a breath at Alex’s ignorant inquiry, but Valhalla gave him a wane smile.

“No- my mother didn’t. Vanished with the lot of them that weren’t being used when the war began.”

That made Gunther pause as Alex tried to stutter out an apology while Abigail ruined her efforts as she turned her head around to look up at Valhalla.

“You go under your mother’s name?”

“It has more… political clout? The Shadhavars are known amongst my people, feared and admired. My father knew this, and so me and my siblings go under my mother’s family.”

“So your dad lucked out and married someone famous?” Abigail grinned, even as Valhalla tutted softly and turned her head back around, undoing her work so she could realign the weaves.

“My father… was… someone of importance in his own right,” she began gently, dutifully ignoring the sudden looks of realization that dawned upon their faces other than Sam and Gunther.

“So if your dad was someone more important, then you would’ve gone under a different name?” Abigail inquired, hesitating only a little at mentioning of her father.

“I would have been called Mazda, yes. But I still bear his name, as Ahura is my middle title as is tradition of being the eldest. Granted, it is supposed to go to _sons_ , but no one particularly cared.”

“Ahura Mazda…” Gunther mumbled to himself, rubbing his chin in thought. “That is… a familiar name.”

“I… suppose it should,” Valhalla replied tentatively, drawing his attention as she forced her fingers from clenching at Abigail’s hair.

“Your father was… an important person, right? You mentioned to me once” Sam butted in quietly, looking increasingly uneasy- for her sake when she glanced over at him.

“My father was the head of the… Special Forces,” she admitted, fixing her eyes onto the purple strands of hair before her. “And the… how do I say it? ‘Third in line to the throne’?”

All movement stopped outside of her own fingers, Abigail frozen under her hand and all eyes except for hers on Valhalla.

“You-“ Gunther began, a surprised, breathless little laugh escaping him as he sat down into a chair, pushing his glasses askew as he rubbed his face with both hands in utter disbelief. “You father was in line of succession!”

“The Gotoro Empire took over our land because they killed the line of right. My father included.”

“Except they didn’t,” Gunther replied, dropping his hands to look at her dead in the eye. “The garments.”

“Okay okay, hang on for a second,” Sebastian was the one to surprise them with his outburst, holding his hands up into the air. “Your dad,” he began, pointing at Valhalla. “Had been some sort of royalty?”

“In a sense, yes,” Gunther explained, knowing better in how to word it better than Valhalla after a quick glance in her direction for approval. “Klo’s governmental system is strange in comparison to both the Republic and the Empire. Gotoro thrives on bloodlines and relatives to ascend the throne, the Republic vote people in to represent them. Klo is…was… set up with a figurehead, who originally appointed four others to assist them to run different military or economic structures as well as be the head of a sector of the land, much like a governor or the like. Any of those four could be dismissed by their leader, but at the same time could appoint another to take their place. It was also the line of which one would take lead in the absence of their ruler, directly translating into as the First, Second, Third, and Forth as their titles. The leader went under a different title that I can’t grasp a translation of off the top of my head.”

“So… your dad was… the Third?” Sam’s brow furrowed. “Since he was the third in line?”

“Yes… and no,” Valhalla said softly. “He was the… the Third. But he was not at the time of his death.”

“The garment that Valhalla wore to the Flower Dance,” Gunther supplied gently as Valhalla swallowed thickly, finishing the last of Abigail’s braid. “Was a celebratory outfit, often worn when a soldier gains an award, a medal, or, in her case, the passing of titles.”

Abigail’s head swiveled to stare at Valhalla, her mouth slightly open as she gaped at her. Valhalla smiled a small, sad smile down at her to avoid looking at the others.

“I never got to wear it,” she replied quietly. “The… ‘diplomatic’ meeting between my people and Gotoro was supposed to be the last mission my father took on bearing the rank.”

“But the title is still yours. It was approved in all accounts by that point. The ceremony is merely for show.”

“And that’s what it makes it all the more worse,” Valhalla stressed, feeling the tears prickle at her eyes again as her words thickened in her throat, momentarily forgetting the audience she had. “I had a duty to my people, now more than ever, and I just… just _left_ them! The Empire killed my father for no good reason! And neither Gotoro nor Ferngill knew- all they cared about was my association to my _mother_ , for what she had knowledge of. And Ferngill only wanted my strength, to throw me into the thick of things to save their own people. I fought to protect my people, begged for aid and refused to break when the Empire hurt me, and I simply abandoned them when my own mother told me to leave for my sake. It only placed them in danger because I left- now not only will the Empire try to enslave them, Ferngill could refuse to aid them because of my foolish decision to listen and leave for a good I do not deserve, abandoning my people- my _family_! And now I’m here, putting this entire _town_ in danger simply because your government has caught wind that I am here, and they want my mother and my brute skill and they care _nothing_ about our sorrow, our hardships, and I can’t keep _failing_ everyone because of my mistakes!”

In her rant, she hadn’t noticed Abigail quietly moving away, guided by Gunther before he stepped in. Warm hands on her arms jerked her back into reality, blinking tearfully up at him.

“Jahangir,” Gunther whispered softly, kneeling down so that he was more at eye-level with her, his hands never leaving her arms. “It was not your fault.”

A pair of arms circled around her bicep, causing Valhalla to drop her eyes further to a sleepy-eyed Virgil, his brows creased into a serious line.

“Fuck the Empire,” he mumbled against her skin, causing her to bark out a surprised, watery laugh.

“He’s right, fuck ‘em! And fuck the Republic too if they’re going to be assholes,” Abigail stated, going over to Valhalla’s other side. “You ain’t any help to no one if you’re dead!”

“I don’t really understand everything that’s going on,” Alex added tentatively. “But you’re a good person, Valhalla. And, er, I think your people would’ve wanted you to be safe and happy.”

“Your family definitely would want that,” Sam tagged on gently. “To be safe and happy, even if all the title stuff didn’t apply.”

“And everyone in town wants you to be that too. Mom would probably kill anyone who thought otherwise herself,” Sebastian put in his own thoughts.

And Valhalla closed her eyes, burying her face into one hand as she tried to stifle her cries as her friends tried to comfort her.

Because for the first time in years, she believed in the sentimentality of the words spoken to her.  


	27. Normalcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to settle back to normal as fall approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos so far! This chapter's a bit of a filler to cover some time so we can get the year going. I can't believe it's taking almost 30 chapters just for one single year, let alone only two seasons. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was fascinating in perspective that, despite how one of the closest secrets Valhalla had was revealed, the quiet little town-life continued on in Pelican Town without any drastic changes.

Naturally the whole populace of the tiny town knew about Valhalla, or rather, Jahangir Shadhavar, probably royalty in their sense of understanding of her position in Klo, within the next day or two of her admittance, but beside from a few innocent comments and honest questions from the occasional visitor, their stance with her didn’t change a lick.

“You’re one of us now,” Robin had laughed, after bringing in to show off some of Valhalla’s harvest of the biggest tomatoes she had ever seen because of the rainfall, her lips pulled into a lopsided grin as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “We wouldn’t care if you were Yoba Themself. I mean, we took in Shane and like him all the same despite how he is, didn’t we?”

Speaking of Shane, he did happen to stop in once in the early hours of the morning before he went off to work for the soulless one, scuffing his feet awkwardly before shoving a casserole dish into Valhalla’s hands and walking back out the door he came in from without uttering a word, his spine unusually stiff.

The pepper poppers were delicious, even if they were a little uneven and sloppy from inexperienced hands. Valhalla ate the entire dish of them in one sitting.

It was the same day that Harvey returned from the village next over, worry creasing his brow and honestly in his eyes as he almost ran into the library after finding out what had transpired during his absence.

“Valhalla, I would never-“ he had begun, trying to convey an apology he didn’t need to say.

Valhalla laughed and reached up to nearly bend him in half as she all put pulled the doctor into her lap with a hug, causing the poor man to splutter and turn an interesting shade of pink while Gunther hid his face behind the newspaper he had been reading, doing very little to stifle his snicker with the flimsy barrier.

“I know you didn’t,” Valhalla told him, and that was all she needed to say on that matter. It had not been the doctor’s fault that the government almost caught up with her- she trusted him far too much to believe such a thought. No, the call of the Enforcers was entirely an outsider's fault, not Harvey or anyone else in the town for that matter. 

Her words made Harvey feel better enough to put on his doctor face and rag on her for her irresponsible actions that resulted in getting hurt. He didn't entirely mean it, and Valhalla simply smiled on with a roll of her eyes as he checked on her injuries and the stitches Maru did to make sure they were acceptable.

The days that followed showed improvement on Valhalla’s injuries, despite the fact she was far too stubborn for her own good and kept walking around when she thought no one was looking. Gunther tried, bless his heart, but both of them knew that as soon as he turned his back, she would get bored and try to do something on the other side of the room, or downstairs, or outside, or simply bother Gunther at his desk while he was trying to work. He never got mad or annoyed, but he mastered a disappointed look over the rim of his glasses that made Valhalla guilty enough to sit still- at least for a little while.

“If you think she’s bad now,” Virgil muttered to Gunther during one of her particularly restless days, his eyes never leaving the old book before him. “Imagine her being locked up in a tiny studio apartment for several months.”

Regardless of her inability to sit still, Valhalla knew her limits well enough not to push herself. Stitches were a pain, but tearing them would only be worse. The cuts on her feet healed and scabbed a bit, but she made sure not to jostle about too much when she decided that sitting was boring and to change scenery. And her injuries mended, slowly and surely under the careful watch of the tag-team that consisted of Gunther, Maru, Virgil, and Harvey.

While her wounds healed, the relationship between Gunther and herself grew under the tender care and soft stories in the evening twilight when the library was locked up and both of them retired to the basement home. She learned much about Gunther’s homeland, the islands where summer was endless, the water warm and everything was so bright and colorful. He spoke almost nothing of his family, but much about the people, the culture, and their history, and Valhalla was fascinated all the same.

In turn, Valhalla opened up a little more about herself and her family, since Gunther knew a bit more about her homeland than anyone else in the town. She smiled and laughed about her brothers and sisters, about how close she was to her first and the eldest brother of her large family, how one of her older brothers who had gone off to train to become a blacksmith, and instead got bonded to two of his masters instead, how a sister begun her training as a healer to help the far-reached villages. She told him about her twin siblings- brother and sister- who had gone off to start a farm/brewery not too far from home, her one sister who had gone and become a diplomat and had been away when Gotoro came and ruined everything, and her hope that at least that sister was still safe and maybe her one other brother who became a water diviner and had been who knows where digging up a well when the war started. She spoke with pride about the sister who became a weaver, raising, harvesting, and dying silk strands and turning the craft into a masterpiece, and heartache in her voice when she spoke of the youngest of them all, still too young in her eyes to be in the middle of such a conflict.

And Gunther listened, leaning against the bedframe beside her as she talked, one hand waving and gesturing with her words and the other threaded through the man’s fingers, his thumb caressing her skin with gentleness as she talked and talked and talked.

It was nice, she had to admit to herself, to have someone whom she was comfortable enough to open up and talk to freely without worry of rebuttal. She had fretted at first, but Gunther was a calm, patience presence that had ultimately soothed her doubts away with a warm brush of his fingers against the back of her hand.

But like all things, Valhalla’s stay with Gunther came to an end with the stitches coming out of her leg and Harvey giving her a clean bill of health. Valhalla was eager to get back to her farm, to put her near endless fount of energy to practical use and not being a massive bother, but at the same time she was going to miss the quiet time they spent together simply enjoying each other’s presence.

Yet there were several surprised in store her Valhalla when she did return home. In her absence, the entire farmhouse was repainted, giving the original colors a breath of life. The house was refurnished with an actual dining table and smooth wooden chairs, the guest and main bedrooms decked out with dark polished dressers and larger beds covered in thick, hand-crafted quilts. Both closets had been stocked full of clothes- some clearly handmade with love. The walls were also decorated in framed pictures taken around the Valley and the mantle above the fireplace contained several wooden and ceramic pieces that were quite abstract in their existence.

“Surprise!” Emily had said with a beam, Haley hiding a smile behind a hand while Valhalla stood in shock.

It turned out a lot of the town had gone and given both herself and by extension Virgil things while both of them were preoccupied living in town for the short time. It had only meant to repaint the old place, but Emily had worked on several outfits for Valhalla after the Flower Dance and had gone to sneak them into her closet. Yet at seeing how bare bones the place was, and the fact that Haley had spotted that the room Virgil had been occupying had almost nothing _but_ books, the two sisters had decided it was time to give both of them and their home a makeover. Robin and Leah jumped at the chance, Clint dragged along by a simple smile from Emily, and with a few of the others pitching in, the entire town had turned the farm into an actual home without either of them knowing.

The look on Virgil’s face when he found out was worth her own shock and nearly breaking down into tears at how touching the whole ordeal.

Tears were becoming more of a frequent occurrence, and yet Valhalla couldn’t be ashamed by them. Not these ones.

After that, things began to settle back into a routine. The morning and nights became cooler as the days wore on, Valhalla harvested much of her crops and made blueberry jam for just about everyone under the sun, and both herself and Virgil became more frequent visitors to Pelican Town.

Virgil was still very nervous about the attention, though, but he seemed comfortable enough if he was around herself, Gunther, or Alex and his grandparents. Valhalla had even stepped out of Pierre’s once to see Virgil listening to cranky old George as the wheelchair-bound man whittled away at some wood and prattled on about the old days of the town without a trace of anxiety on his freckled face. He was still a ball of nerves around most of the others, but Valhalla had spied him talking to Penny once and even Abigail and her pair of friends saying a few words to him every now and then at least in pleasant greeting so not to crowd him too much.

She was proud that he was at least making it this far in acquiring friends.  

The Junimos were far too happy to see Valhalla back on the farm, with almost a dozen of them bouncing around the place at any given time. Virgil had gotten use to them being a constant presence, even if she had caught him bribing them with honey to keep them from causing too much mischief in his room and messing up sometimes months’ worth of work. Utu had taken this as an excuse to give Rasmodius even more heckling, and the man had apparently appeared-quite literally and instantaneously- on their doorstep one afternoon when Valhalla had been away, just as Virgil had opened the door.

Of course, Valhalla hadn’t found out until she came back to the door thoroughly locked and Virgil hiding under his bed after she crawled through the window, spooked out of his wits.

“He just- came out of nowhere!” he managed to breathe out in a near wheeze, looking far too pale as he clutched the front of his shirt as if his life depended on it. Then again, it most likely did, considering how weak Virgil’s heart truly was. It had worried Valhalla to the point where she had gone to Rasmodius’ tower in the middle of the night once Virgil was calmed down enough and wore himself out to actually sleep and banged on his door.

“Do _not_ scare Virgil again. He may not live it”

The next morning the wizard and the small scholar were finally introduced officially under Valhalla’s critical eye, with Rasmodius apologizing and Virgil wringing his hands to a point where Valhalla had to put her own over them to keep him from hurting himself.

“You look like someone I’ve met before…” Rasmodius trailed off after several awkward seconds of silence. “You are not, perchance, a Zabala, are you?”  

Virgil froze under Valhalla’s hand at the question.

“I wouldn’t know,” he mumbled out a reply to the floor. “Mother was a Rehor, as was my uncle and their father. Don’t know my father.”

Rasmodius hummed softly at the response, but pressed no further and instead set a book down onto the kitchen table before making his way out with a polite farewell. Valhalla knew he left because Virgil was uncomfortable even if he didn't say it, but she knew Rasmodius well enough and quietly thanked his ability to understand Virgil's need of space around strangers.

It hadn’t stopped Virgil from reading the strange book with odd symbols on the cover that the wizard left behind, though. No book went unread in Virgil’s care, especially curious-looking ones.

The cooler nights led to Agrion a bit more active. Her absence on the farm led to the massive wolf to follow her everywhere for a few days after her return, watching her with his red eyes as she went about her day. It was the only sign of concern the creature had for Valhalla, and it warmed her heart to see that he at least cared enough for her to worry over her presence, even if the dead animals on her doorstep were rather unnecessary. Valhalla took great care in cleaning up the mess before Virgil found out.

“Autumn is around the corner,” Gunther mentioned one afternoon when Valhalla stopped in to visit (and give him some extra blueberry jam, to which he didn’t even need to admit that he enjoyed, considering she had seen first jar empty, cleaned out, and being used to hold pens).

“Seasons can go around corners?” Valhalla inquired as she pressed her lips together, perplexed. Gunther merely smiled and patted her hand, his fingers warm against her skin.

“I have been meaning to ask you, if Demetrius has mentioned to you about the Moonlight Jellyfish,” he said instead, which perked Valhalla up at the new topic to forget about her concerns about seasons being able to navigate corners.

“Yes! He says they glow in the dark!” It was all Demetrius ever spoke about the last few times she had seen him. The majority of the things he said she didn’t quite understand one bit, but she did know that they were some sort of glowing sea creature that came close to the shore during the night when summer officially turned into fall on their calendars.

“They do indeed glow in the dark,” Gunther chuckled. “But there also a small gathering the village does to see them drift right by the docks.”

“They get that close?” Valhalla hadn’t known that. ‘Close to shore’ could’ve meant ‘seen at shore’, but she hadn’t realized it was _literally_ at the shore. Her entire face brightened at the thought, leaning closer to Gunther in delight.

“When do I get to see them?”

“Not for two more weeks. On the 30th.”

“Oh. That’s… that’s…” Valhalla’s eyes trailed towards the calendar on the wall, squinting at the font as if that would help her understand it better. Her reading skills may have improved, but she hadn’t quite grasped the numbers yet. Or mathematics in general. It made sense in her native tongue, but the Republic’s version was a bit of a mess.

A hand emerged into her field of vision, gently tapping one of the last marked boxes on the calendar with a finger. “The 30th is the last day of the month,” Gunther explained with soft kindness.

“Oooh. I understand.” Valhalla paused as a thought entered her mind, frowning. “But… will there be others there?”

Were there going to be outsiders present at this gathering? Would she even be able to see the event if she was busy hiding? Or would it be safer to just stay home?

A chuckle pulled her from her thought, turning Valhalla’s attention to Gunther as he carefully slid his glasses from his nose, exposing his vibrant golden eyes.

“There is nothing to fear, Valhalla,” he told her, setting the spectacles down onto the counter to take her hand. “No one but the townsfolk will be there. There is a much larger viewpoint farther up the coast, and any who are interested will go there instead.”

Valhalla felt her shoulders slump in relief, her expression perking back up once again. “So I will get to see them!” she grinned, taking hold of Gunther’s hand in both of hers. “I get to see the glowing fish!”

“Jellyfish,” Gunther couldn’t help but laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his smile widened. “And yes, you will get to see them. Would you like me to come meet you at your house?”

It was as if he could read her mind, knowing that she wouldn’t remember the days of the week enough to realize it was the day of the event. It wasn’t that she forgot, but keeping track of actual time was something in Ferngill was something she still hadn’t gotten the grasp of yet. Virgil at least helped a little, when he knew what day it was between his reading and research marathons that last for days at a time until he collapsed onto his own work in exhaustion.

“If it isn’t a bother,” Valhalla returned the smile, stroking her thumbs over his hand for a moment before letting go. “At least more than I have been.”

Gunther’s smile held such warmth and truth as he leaned across the counter, only a few breaths away from her own face. “Jahangir, you are never a bother. Especially not to me.”

Valhalla huffed out a small laugh of her own, surprising Gunther by tilting just a bit more forward to press her lips against his own.

“I’ll see you then,” she breathed out softly before turning away, leaving the man staring after her as she left the library. As soon as the door closed behind her, her smile turned giddy as she grinned from ear to ear, a slight hop in her step as she waved at Virgil who was standing inside the ice cream stand, watching Alex make something with utter fascination.

She couldn’t wait for the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies.


	28. Dance of the Moonlight Jellies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer bows to the arrival of autumn with the migration of Moonlight Jellies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support so far! Summer is finally ending and fall is beginning for this story. This chapter begins to thread together some things, and, well, it is up to you to decide what. 
> 
> As stated before, I have a [tumblr](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/) that you can look at and ask me questions there. There's also a link to a ko-fi page that I made not too long ago either if you wish to support my dumb, drabbly butt who consistently writes things instead of sleeping.
> 
> Enjoy! c:

The last day of summer came with a coolness in the air, the ghosting presence of autumn while summer gave its last rasping breaths as the sun rose and the chill dissipated like the dew on the grass under the warm rays.

Valhalla spent the morning harvesting the rest of her crops, saving the ones she was going to cook or preserve later while piling the rest high into the shipping crate, leaving the last of the tomatoes on the offering plate. There was a lot of work to be done, weeding around the stalks of corn and swaying sunflowers, peeking at their bright heads to judge how long it would be before she had to wrap their heads in order to save the seeds. And then it was checking on her berry bushes, collecting excess honey from the apiary, washing her fruits and vegetables of grime, and making a list of things she needed at Pierre’s.

“Are you coming with?” she called up the stairs, tapping her sandals back onto her feet.

“Are you coming back?” came the much softer call from beyond the bannister, Virgil’s head barely visible between the rails.

“I think so. Got to return the crate and then clear some land. Think I can get a chicken coop in before snowfall.” Or at least, that was her plan. She still needed to run some things by Robin, but all in all, she was pretty sure together they could get a coop done before winter, perhaps even some fences. Or should she wait until spring to build fences? Do chickens even need fences? Well, Agrion was present, so it was probably safer to keep them penned up.

“I will stay behind,” Virgil responded back, his fingers curling around the wooden rails as he peered down at her. “I have some work that needs to be done.”

“Okay! Do you need anything?”

With a small mumble of “not really”, which Valhalla mentally noted as “surprise me”, Valhalla said her temporary farewells before heading out the door, picking up the shipping crate off the porch before heading off towards down, humming with cheer.

The sound of something thumping against the ground caused Valhalla to stop, her ears perking at the noise. Shifting the crate to one hip, she rounded a tree to see Leah sitting on the ground, arms folded as she glared at the apple tree as if it had offended her.

“Problems?” Valhalla inquired, causing Leah to start.

“Yes, but it’s nothing to worry about,” she replied with a smile and jumping to her feet, knocking the dirt off her backside. “Just the apple I want is being particularly stubborn.”

“Ah.” Valhalla’s eyes turned up to the apple in question, looking like any other apple on the wild tree, but Leah knew much about the local plants, so perhaps she knew what was best by sight alone.

The woman in question was gazing back up at the fruit, her lips pulled to the side in an irritated, puzzling expression as she put her hands on her hips. Valhalla glanced at the apple once more before smiling, setting the crate down onto the ground and approaching.

Her hands around Leah’s waist caused the woman to squawk in surprise as she hoisted the artist upward. Valhalla tried not to laugh as her hands moved lower for a firmer grip on Leah, at the same time keeping her up high enough to attempt to reach her prize.

“You are far too tall for your own good,” Leah huffed, but her tone was in good nature as she stretched her arms out as far as she could to grasp the apple. “Not that I’m complaining, but being that tall should be illegal.”

“Well, then I guess my entire family is out of the question,” Valhalla grinned, letting Leah gently back down onto the ground. “I am one of the shortest.”

“You-!” Leah growled wordlessly, punching Valhalla hard in the arm. It made her laugh, pulling away from the feisty artist. “You’re pulling the wool over my eyes!”

“I don’t know what that means!” Valhalla chimed in, still laughing as she bent down to pick up the shipping crate once more. “So I am going to say “yes” and hope that works!”

“You can’t agree to things you don’t understand, Val!” Leah joined in on the laughter, walking beside Valhalla back towards town with the casual crunch of teeth against tender fruit skin. “That’s trouble and you know it.”

“Of course it is! But I trust you not to lead me astray.” At this Valhalla leaned closer, whispering the last of the words into Leah’s ear. She turned a pretty pink, choking on apple peel before pushing her face away.

“Behave,” Leah scolded once she cleared her throat with the help of a hearty thump to the back, but the smile still tugged at her lips all the same as they stepped off gravel and onto cobble.

They parted ways then, Leah waving as she munched on her apple while heading down the square, Valhalla waving back before she made her way into Pierre’s.

“Hello Pierre! Caroline,” she smiled, dropping the crate onto the counter. “Look what I got!”

“Good lord,” Pierre uttered in disbelief, although his eyes glinted with glee as he began to look through the produce. “I would need to have a sale to sell all of this before they go.”

“You grow such delicious things,” Caroline smiled with fondness as Pierre muttered about numbers and percentages. “You are doing so well for how long you’ve been here.”

“I’m still learning. But I am doing my best.”

Caroline patted Valhalla’s arm before she made a soft excuse to leave to check up on Abigail. Valhalla took the opportunity to go through the shop, loading items into a small basket she nicked from the counter with items she couldn’t grow or make herself.

“So, I hear you and the librarian are a thing,” Pierre began simply as he counted up the cost of Valhalla’s items in comparison to what she would earn from her produce.

“We are… in a companionship, yes,” Valhalla admitted slowly. “Although I do not know much about Ferngill’s… ah… courtships? Is that what they are called?”

“It’s usually referred to as dating, but I suppose you two are not traditionally from here, so it doesn’t really matter much,” Pierre added. “But I’m glad, you know. Caroline is especially happy for you. She has been worrying ever since we picked you up off the side of the road. She’s turned most of her worry to your friend- Virgil, was it?”

“He needs all the worrying after,” Valhalla sighed, flipping idly through a catalog that was resting on the counter. “He… has trouble with opening up, for good reasons, but, no one should have a good reason to being so scared of people.”

Pierre’s lips became pinched, making a sound in his throat as he finished counting up the costs.

“You’re earning one thousand and sixteen G’s,” he replied, diverting the topic away from the previous discussion. Valhalla took it with all eagerness, perking up with a slight flick of her ears.

“Oh! Thank you!”

“I almost forgot,” Pierre added, when Valhalla was putting the last of her purchased items into the shipping crate. “Gunther stopped in earlier today. Thought you would come in sometime and asked me to relay a message.”

“He did?” Valhalla’s brows furrowed in confusion, peering at the man with a perplexed expression. Why would Gunther leave a message with Pierre? She knew that he knew that she wasn’t good at written messages quite yet, but certainly if it was important he would stop by the farm. Unless it was something that he couldn’t go that far to tell her.

“He was deeply apologetic,” Pierre explained, his tone carrying the quiet sincerity that Gunther must’ve explained it in. “But he cannot quite make it to the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies tonight. Something important came up at the last minute and called him to Zuzu City.” Pierre even looked _sorry_ for having to tell Valhalla the news, possibly even more so as she deflated at the news, happiness vanishing like fog in the sunlight.

“Oh.” She had been looking forward to it, but Gunther’s job was very important. “Maybe he will get back early,” she said, more so convincing herself than anything. Pierre gave her a small, sad smile as he reached over and rested a hand on her arm.

“I am sure he will do his best to try to make it in time. He didn’t want to miss it for the world.”

Valhalla returned the gesture with a wane smile of her own, thanking Pierre quietly before picking up her crate. Her heart was still heavy with disappointment as she made her way back out of town and towards Shalebreak. She didn’t blame Gunther in the least, but she couldn’t help but be sad that he would most likely miss the event, even after they made plans.

It was okay, she told herself, knocking her sandals at the door before entering the house, the door shutting behind her. There was always next year, if they were still… in a relationship. The thought made Valhalla sigh, sitting down at the kitchen table, running her fingers through her hair as she tried to collect her thoughts before they got away from her. Even in the short time that she had known Gunther and knowing more about him, she had grown… attached to him. He was always so understanding and warm, taking the time to make sure she understood things while letting her open up and talk without judgement or scorn. He had such a strange, ancient wisdom about him, and yet Valhalla always felt comfort while being close to him. Safe, in a way.

A cup of tea appeared in her vision, jolting her out of her musings. Virgil gave her a tiny smile that was barely an uplift of the corners of his lips, but it was a smile Virgil only knew how to. Valhalla felt her brow relax from its previous scrunching, giving him a gentle smile in silent thanks before wrapping her fingers around the warm mug.

Virgil didn’t ask, and Valhalla was thankful for it, settling into quiet comradery as they enjoyed the tea together at the kitchen table. As soon as the cups were empty and rinsed out and the recently purchased goods put away, Virgil crept back up the stairs as Valhalla went outside, losing herself to the momentum of physical work as she chopped, pulled, and raked an area of brush and weed down and smoothed out the earth so that the future chicken coop would at least be flat.

Soon enough, the day had gone by and twilight colored the horizon with darkening purples and blues. Valhalla set her tools away, running her fingers over Agrion’s back as the massive wolf prowled past her and towards the tree before heading back into the house. It was a quick shower and a change of clothes for her before ushering Virgil out of his hiding in his room to feed them both some traditional Kloian stew to warm them both up as the heat of the afternoon began to ease away.

The walk to the beach was slow for Virgil’s sake, taking their time in travelling down the path towards the soft glow of streetlamps. He was already shivering slightly under the oversized turtleneck sweater he was wearing, but he denied it when Valhalla asked, so she didn’t press further, only perhaps walked a little closer to him to help keep him warm.

The beach was already filled with the townsfolk, whispering in pairs or small groups as they stood on the piers.

“Virgil!” A shout came from across the sand, Alex trotting over to the pair as he caught sight of them. “Hey Miss Valhalla,” he added on once he got closer out of politeness.

“Hello Alex,” Valhalla smiled, unbothered. “How are you?”

“Good! Really good! Best news of my life!” He was bouncing on his toes, grinning like a loon but his eyes glinted merrily in the moonlight as they focused on Virgil. “I got a good spot to watch from the docks if you want to join.”

“Oh, um.” Virgil, bless his heart, looked torn, his fingers already working around each other in an anxious twist, looking up at Valhalla for almost silent approval.

“Go on,” she encouraged gently, giving him a soft nudge. “I wish to speak to some of the others. Go have fun, okay?” She trusted Alex to take care of Virgil in her absence- she sensed deep in her heart that they were more kindred spirits than they realized. She was glad that Virgil was warming up to the other young man.

Vincent and Jas were racing up and down the docks, both determined to be the first to see the jellyfish. Shane sat on one of the many benches, watching Jas laugh with a ghost of a smile on his lips that she knew he would deny and hide if she tried to talk to him, so instead she left him be. Gus was talking to Willy about fish recipes, and Emily was smiling as she took Clint’s hand and took the nervous blacksmith onto the docks.

Valhalla found Rasmodius hiding farther down shore, boots off and toes in the wet sand as the water sloshed up onto shore.

“You seem to be having fun,” Valhalla replied simply, sandals hitting wet sand and toes soaking in the warm waters as she joined the wizard.

“It is a great magical phenomenon,” was all he answered with, and Valhalla smiled all the same, turning to watch the waves for a little as the sea breeze carried the voices of the villagers to her ears.

“I was apprehensive when I heard of your relationship with the librarian at first,” Rasmodius began after a moment of silence, drawing Valhalla’s attention to the man, although his gaze was still out towards the sea. “But I have witnessed how he treats you these past weeks. You are… his most precious treasure.”

Rasmodius finally turned his eyes from the water and to Valhalla, who stared down at him with confusion bubbling inside her chest. It must have been clear on his face, as the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly in good humor. “He is good to you, and he will do all he can not to hurt you, just so he can hold onto you for a little while longer.”

“I-?” Valhalla began, trying to find her voice in the confusion, but a distant call from towards the docks caught her ears, Abigail waving at her to come join them on the docks.

“Go to them,” Rasmodius murmured before Valhalla could excuse herself. “And perhaps stay a little while afterwards. Some things may come to light.”

“Is something wrong?” Abigail inquired as sandals hit the wooden planks of the dock.

“No, just thinking too hard,” Valhalla replied, and Abigail wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh, I do that too sometimes. But tonight is not the time to think! Now come on and watch Lewis let loose the light!”

Valhalla joined the townspeople on the edges of the dock as Lewis sent out a small raft with a paper lantern aglow on it. It drifted out into the waves, bobbing up and down farther into the distance, but then the waters itself began to glow.

Valhalla watched in awe as hundreds of jellyfish drifted by the dock, soft blues and the occasional green peeking out in the dark water, lighting up the entire shoreline as they floated by, their tendrils spread out in a maze of peaceful light in contrast with the night. They were breathtaking, a serene presence that made her shiver, her skin prickling with the sensation of honest beauty that only they could pull off.

It was a quiet, peaceful hour, but the last of the jellyfish disappeared down the coast and out of sight, and one by one the villagers began to make their leave, starting with the yawning children, Vincent having to be carried by Sam who said his soft farewells to Valhalla and his two friends as he walked across the pier to join Jodi in the sand. Jas wasn’t doing any better, holding onto Shane’s hand and trying to tell him that she certainly was not tired thank you very much. The drooping eyes didn’t provide convincing support on the matter, and Valhalla caught Shane picking her up and carrying her at the edge of the beach.

The others left in pairs, Marnie and Lewis talking lowly to each other and Haley and Emily leaving with Leah after waving Elliot off at his beachside cottage. Valhalla had seen hide nor hair of Marlon- perhaps it simply wasn’t his thing.

“Do you mind if you stay with Alex, Virgil?” Valhalla asked her tiny friend as the last of the stragglers began to leave, Virgil rubbing at his eyes with his sweater sleeves balled up in his hand. “If you don’t mind, Alex. It’s just a dark walk and I wish to stay on the beach for a little while longer, and he looks ready to fall asleep on us.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Alex agreed with a grin. “Grandma will certainly be happy to have him stay.”

Valhalla gave him a thankful smile before leaning over, pressing her lips to Virgil’s forehead. “You behave now,” she told him gently, which caused a soft snort to escape his throat, muffled by the collar of his sweater that was pulled up to his nose.

It didn’t take long before Valhalla was alone on the piers after, Willy the last- going off to warm up at the Stardrop with a few others. The air was mild here on the coast, and Valhalla took the peace to let out a soft sigh as she kicked off her sandals and sat down at the edge of the pier with her toes in the water.

She wished Gunther was here, she had to admit to herself, as she let her thoughts drift away with a soft song on her lips. The jellyfish were absolutely stunning, but she wished she could have shared the experience with Gunther, since it too would have been his first sighting of them in Stardew Valley since taking the job as librarian and museum curator.

Valhalla’s song carried across the waves, calling out for her hopes of her family’s safety and longing for their return to her. It wasn’t as sad as it had been before, and while her heart still yearned for home, she knew that here was becoming a home of her own, nestled in the quiet town between sea and mountain. She just wished that her family too could share in this new, budding sense of happiness, no matter how brief.

The song trailed off from her lips, the last words fading into the ocean air. Valhalla leaned back onto her hands, letting out a deep sigh as she gazed out across the waters. The moonlight glinted off the waves, serene in its soft silence. She admired it for a bit before she decided it was time to go.

But as Valhalla pulled her feet out of the water, sandals in hand, something disturbing the water caught her ear, bursting out far out in the sea. It was _massive_ , a serpentine frame with the outline of spines down its back. The moonlight reflected off its underside, iridescent like the inside of a shell, shifting colors as it spiraled before plunging back down into the waves.

Valhalla rose to her feet, sandals loose in her fingers as she watched the creature emerge back out of the water in its odd, spiraling, twisting dance between water in air. She was enthralled by its graceful gravity-less ascents and descents, frozen in place as she continued to watch it. It reminded her of some of the snake-like monsters that lived in Klo, but she hadn’t seem much in ways of beings at the scale she was used to seeing like this one.

The sound of her sandals hitting wood with a thump before splashing into the water startled both herself and the creature far from shore. Its head snapped around mid-turn, gravity taking it hold of it as it dropped back into the water with a sharp smack that made her wince. She caught sight of spines peeking out of the water, a flick of a tail, but then it was out of sight.

Valhalla felt that she intruded on something she wasn’t supposed to see.

“ _Sorry!_ ” she told the waters, taking a step back and then another, her sandals forgotten as she backed down the docks, not turning her back until she was halfway across the beach. She wasn’t afraid of the creature, not in the least, but she knew that some things weren’t meant to be tampered with. It was like some of the monsters back home when you intrude onto their territory. Once you made no threatening gestures and left peacefully, they wouldn’t bother you. So she did what she knew how to, leaving the beach behind her as she headed back into town in order to placate whatever it was that she had seen and disturbed.

Behind her, the water close to the dock parted as a head of blues and sea green rose from the waves, a pair of sandals carefully held between lips and sharp teeth, watching her depart with golden eyes.


	29. A Zabala In Face- A Rehor In Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rasmodius, Gunther, and Valhalla begin to piece together the mystery that is Virgil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support so far! We are getting ever so close to 30 chapters AND 100k words! 
> 
> This chapters brushes on a few issues, mentions of death, and hints of abuse. 
> 
> If you have any questions or requests, feel free to talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Enjoy!

The next morning was surprisingly brisk, the air having a chill that hinted at frost if it ever got cold enough during the night.

Valhalla sighed and rolled over, pressing her face into the couch cushion. She had come from the beach and crashed on the couch instead of making her way up to her bedroom. But one of the windows had been left open, and so the fall breeze crept its cold breath into the home, leaving the tips of her ears feeling just nippy enough to force her to get up and drag her feet across the room to shut the offending window by the front door.

It was mid-closing when her ears picked up the sound of growling, her half-lidded eyes focusing on the dark form of Agrion standing on the porch just beyond the glass. His hackles were raised, teeth bared as he growled something fierce at a familiar blue shape.

“Gunther?” she asked after squinting at the shape, too tired to process what she was seeing well.

“Good morning, Valhalla.” It was Gunther, coming into a bit better focus as Valhalla blinked. He stood entirely unaffected by the deep, dangerous rumbling that was escaping Agrion, lifting a hand up that held a pair of familiar leather sandals.

“Willy found these this morning and I believe they belong to you. Your friend here is taking quite an offence to me having something of yours, though.”

Valhalla finished shutting the window with a heavy snap before opening the front door, her bare feet thumping against the wooden planks as she dropped a hand to the wolf’s thick fur.

“Agrion, behave,” she chided him. His growling quieted just a tad, ears flat and watching Gunther with eyes that held a silent threat. Gunther merely smiled at him.

“Alas, the great and powerful Agrion, resorting to the flesh of a mere mongrel,” he hummed, clasping his hands and her sandals behind his back. “I couldn’t think of anything more worthy of such a name from an ancient, ill-tempered dragon of old.”

“Don’t encourage him, Gunther,” Valhalla replied with a jaw-popping yawn, leaving Agrion to it as she stepped closer to the blue-cladded man and took him by the elbow to lead him into the house, leaving the Timberline Terror outside to sulk. “Thank you for bringing my sandals. I… must’ve lost them last night.”

Gunther’s face softened at her words, gently patting her arm with a free hand. “I understand. The sea can be quite unforgiving sometimes.”

He fell quiet for a moment, his smile fading as he let out a deep sigh through his nose, setting her sandals down onto the kitchen table before sliding his glasses off his nose.

“I am truly sorry for not being able to make it last night,” he murmured, his voice quiet and heartfelt as he gazed at her with his unobstructed golden eyes. “There was a sudden request for my presence at a conference in Zuzu City, and it went on far longer than intended.”

Valhalla found herself wrapping her arms around him before he could finish speaking, burying her cold nose into the crook of his neck. His skin and clothes carried a hint of seawater and fish, she noted tiredly as she breathed in before speaking.

“It’s okay.” And it was okay. Some things couldn’t be avoided, and Gunther’s work took priority. She understood he needed to be away, even if it had been a little disappointing not to have him there with her to see the glowing jellyfish or even the strange sea creature that had been present later in the night.

She was also too tired to really care about any of it, content in stealing the warmth from Gunther’s neck to warm up her nose as she closed her eyes.

A rumbling laugh vibrated against her chest as Gunther curled his arms around her waist.

“You stayed up too late,” he chastised gently, his fingers rubbing against the small of her back through her shirt. Valhalla simply made a grumbling noise in the back of her throat. “And you’re cold.”

“Left the window open,” she mumbled against his neck, putting a little more of her weight on him.

“Don’t crush me,” he chuckled, patting her back with his hands. “Come on- I can make you something warm to drink as soon as you let go of me.”

“Hmmm.” Valhalla considered her options at that. On one hand she would have to do very little work if Gunther made something for her. On the other hand, Gunther was already nice and warm.

It was with great reluctance and gentle prodding to her sides that Valhalla let go of him, collapsing into a kitchen chair with simple few-worded directions as to where Gunther could find things.

“Thank you, for the sandals,” she managed to mumble out as Gunther set the kettle onto the stove, his hat and glasses set onto the counter.

“You already thanked me,” he reminded her gently, turning to smile over his shoulder. “But it is not a problem at all. It’s the least I could do to make up to you.”

Valhalla rested her cheek in her hand, elbow on the table as she returned the smile, her eyes partially closed. It was nice, seeing Gunther in her kitchen, his presence alone warming her.

There was a knock on her door, just as the kettle began to whistle.

“Come in,” Valhalla called the best she could without lifting her head from her hand, mumbling a thanks as Gunther set a cup of tea before her.

In came Rasmodius in a swirl of his cloak. He froze at the sight of Gunther, though, who regarded him with a quirked eyebrow but said nothing. They stared each other down over Valhalla’s head, who lifted the tea to her lips and took a sip with a small breath of relief as warmth filled her chest.

“What are you doing here?” Rasmodius was the first to break the silence, his eyebrows scrunching together.

“I could ask you the same,” Gunther replied simply, raising his other eyebrow in question.

“As much as I’d love to see you two undress in my kitchen and see who is larger,” Valhalla cut in, taking another sip from her cup as she lifted her eyes for the first time to look at them both with clarity. “I’d appreciate it if you two simply sit down right now and keep your clothes on.”

Rasmodius stared, the skin above his purple beard turning pink. Gunther dropped his head into his hand, shoulders shaking in silent mirth. Valhalla simply rolled her eyes at them both and pushed a chair out with her foot for Rasmodius to take.

The wizard sat down with some hesitance, still watching Gunther like a hawk even as the other poured water into another mug and slid it towards him before sitting down with his own. Valhalla was feeling a bit more awake with the warmth of the tea on her tongue and mug in hand. She tapped her fingers idly against the ceramic as she turned her eyes from one man to the other, taking another taste before speaking.

“You don’t usually come so early, Rasmodius. Is something wrong?”

Rasmodius was quiet for a brief moment as he rotated his cup between his hands, not yet having taken a drink from it. “I wished to speak to you about Virgil,” he admitted, his eyes flitting over to Gunther as the curator straightened slightly in his seat.

“I wasn’t aware you two have met,” Gunther hummed from behind his drink. “What has my quiet intern done to grab your attention?”

Rasmodius’ lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes narrowed at the other man, although his head was still directed at Valhalla. “I am curious of his origins,” the wizard stated, although that itself was cryptic.

Still Valhalla leaned back, the wood of the chair creaking under her shifting weight as she tapped her fingers against her mug.

“I know some,” she replied slowly, drawing both of their attention from each other. “His mother is gone. He does not know his father. He lived with his uncle- his mother’s brother. I can infer that he… was not well treated under their care. But what has brought your curiosity on him?”

“He’s been practicing from the book I gave him after you go to bed.”

Now _that_ caused both Valhalla and Gunther to snap their eyes to the wizard, Gunther setting his tea down onto the table slowly with a quiet sound of ceramic on wood.

“He has… been practicing magic?” Gunther stated slowly, his expression growing pensive. “I was under the impression you magicians are rare among the people of Ferngill.

“We are,” Rasmodius agreed, his voice taking on a slightly grave inflection. “There are only three that I know of, one I am suspecting but have yet to confirm, which is why I am curious about your friend. He looks so remarkably like a Zabala.”

Gunther’s eyebrows rose to his hairline as he leaned back in his chair, scratching at his goatee in thought. Valhalla’s eyes flicked from him to Rasmodius, beyond lost.

“You… mentioned this before,” Valhalla said slowly. “But what _is_ a Zabala?”

“The Zabalas are an old family of the Kingdom of Wespire,” Gunther explained, still looking thoughtful. “Wespire and Ferngill have been at odds with each other for centuries, more so than Gotoro due to their shared borders on the other side of the Calico Desert and the Red Mountains. The last conflict between them was about twenty years ago in a bit of an arms race, and at that time Wespire had a Zabala in their courts.”

“A Virgilio Zabala,” Rasmodius imputed, which Gunther nodded, his thoughtful expression melting into something a tad serious around the corners of his eyes.

“He was an inventor who incorporated magic into his work. Created hundreds of designs for weapons that are impossible to make without someone knowing a scrap of runecraft or other distinctive sections of wizardry. Some of the explosives he created Ferngill uses in their war with Gotoro today after stealing the recipes they could mass produce. But he simply disappeared one day, and Wespire tried to keep it on the down-low, but Ferngill found out soon enough, and a truce was written up almost immediately following this. Neither Wespire nor Ferngill knew what happened to him, and neither admitted to knowing either.”

Valhalla tried to follow along, leaning forward as she listened.

“Virgil is going to be twenty-one this year,” she stated suddenly, piecing together some key points she could pick out from the information given. “And his name is close to Zabala’s own. But it could be coincidence.”

“It could be,” Rasmodius murmured. “But Virgil is a Rehor by name. Do you know about that family?”

Valhalla shook her head, while Gunther’s eyes became incredibly wide.

“Oh… that… makes a lot of sense, to be honest,” he murmured, slumping in his seat. “Why did I not make that connection before?”

“What does?” Valhalla pressed, eyes turning from Gunther to Rasmodius. “What’s going on?”

“The Rehors are a very significant family in Ferngill,” Gunther explained, leaning to rest his hand over Valhalla’s, making her realize how tightly she was clenching her mug and loosened her grip on it. “They have had key positions in the military and local defense. But there was one Rehor in recent years that had put a blemish on the Rehor name- Guinevere Rehor, who had been a very successful spy during the Wespire-Ferngill Conflict, infiltrating the very heart of Wespire’s political scene.”

“Until she turned traitor and tried to take out the entirety of the Republic’s Representatives after the Truce- in the name of Virgilio Zabala.” Rasmodius cut in.

“She was executed about fifteen years ago. Publically. High treason is the only way to have a public execution in Ferngill, and there hadn’t been one in almost two centuries. It was quite the scandal for the family. The Rehors laid low for a little while before working their way back into security and defense on a more local scale, but they can never erase something this big from their history.”

Valhalla leaned back in her chair, tea forgotten as she stared at the pair of them, horror slowly sinking into her heart as realization hit her.

“He has nightmares,” she whispered softly, her voice thick as her accent worsened in her growing understanding. “I hear him sometimes. I-I think he was _there_.”

The very thought of Virgil seeing his mother being executed made Valhalla feel sick, bitterness in the back of her throat. He hadn’t been older than five if all of this was true, and the very thought of a _child_ being witness to their own mother’s death was…

“ _That is so cold,”_ she mumbled in her native tongue, curling in on herself even as Gunther slid from his chair to kneel beside her, resting a hand on her knee. “ _How could they do such a thing?”_

“ _Even the best place has dark spots,”_ Gunther murmured back to her, his own accent in her native tongue tickling her ears.

“How… how do you know if this is true?” Valhalla asked softly, taking hold of Gunther’s hand, her knuckles turning white. He didn’t complain, gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb as Rasmodius spoke.

“I had met Zabala some years ago. Virgil looks remarkably like him, if only on a smaller scale. And his ability to use magic with such ease is both amazing and worrying.”

“He looks nothing like the existing Rehors either, which is why I didn't make the connection before now." Gunther paused for a moment, his face turning grave as he continued. "And... I’ve read the transcripts of Guinevere’s interrogation. I am technically not supposed to talk about them but… she was devoted to Zabala. Madly so. Enough to blame the Republic entirely on his disappearance. Never once did she mention having a child, but…”

His words trailed off, but his fingers squeezed against Valhalla’s, and she knew what he wasn’t saying. That there really had been a child present, and everything was falling so perfectly into place that it sparked fury into her heart.

“His family hurt him,” she hissed, her fury shining as she bared her teeth. “You see how small he is? How he flinches? He says nothing, but I know, I know. He hurts, he has been hurt, and he’s scared. His mother _died_ , and they _hurt_ him!”

She wasn’t sure if she was lapsing between the two languages or not, rising to her feet while both Gunther and Rasmodius moved to keep her down in her chair. “Let _go_ of me!”

“There’s nothing to be done now,” Gunther stressed, firmly but gently as he grasped both her hands while Rasmodius kept his hands on her shoulders. “There is no concrete evidence that Virgil really is Zabala’s son, but you cannot do anything for what his family has done to him. He is safe now, safe here, because you are helping him.”

“It’s not enough!” Valhalla growled, her chest rising and falling as she tried to keep herself from lashing out at either of them, despite how much she just wanted to storm out of the house, hunt down Virgil’s uncle, and show him a taste of his own medicine.

“ _Jahangir.”_

In that one word from Gunther, his tone soft but something _more_ wrapped in it, Valhalla found herself taking a breath, her eyes burning.

“They _hurt_ him,” she whispered, her fury mixing with heart-wrenching sorrow for Virgil’s sake. “He’s so _small_.”

“You care for him,” Rasmodius’ voice rumbled from behind her, his hands still on her shoulders but providing some support by squeezing them. “That is all he needs right now.”

“That’s all he ever needed.” Valhalla pulled a hand from Gunther’s so she could scrub it up her cheek, sniffling slightly as she blinked back bitter tears. “I just… don’t understand how _family_ could do that to one of their own. It is… have they no hearts?”

“Very few places are like Klo, Jahangir,” Gunther murmured, her single hand in both of his own as he caressed the back of her knuckles with his thumbs. “But what is important that he is part of your family now.”

Valhalla have him a shaky nod at his words. Virgil’s blood family may be garbage, but his true family was here, on this farm, in this tiny little seaside town. She had seen how much he had improved from when she first met him, even if it would be considered very minimal from outsiders. He was willing to risk opening up a little more to others- something he had only done with Valhalla herself. She wanted to see him continue to grow into the kind, gentle person that she knew he was inside, and getting angry over things in his past wouldn’t help.

“I-I can ask him to go to you for help if he is tinkering with magic,” Valhalla began after taking a deep breath to calm herself. “I do not want to see him get hurt.”

“If you can get him to agree, that is preferable,” Rasmodius agreed with a small nod, his hands relaxed on her shoulders. “He has a very strong grasp on runes, at the very least. It is very impressive.”

“He is excellent with languages,” Gunther added quietly. “It is, perhaps, one of his specialties.”

“It’s nice seeing you two being nice to each other,” Valhalla murmured, a hint of a smile creeping into the corners of her lips even with the tears still present in her eyes. “We should have tea together more often.”

From the unreadable expression that crossed both their faces as the wizard and the curator looked at each other, Valhalla had to lean her head back against the chair as she laughed, forcing the tears to trickle down her cheeks.

It didn’t make up for the knowledge she now possessed, but if Virgil found the baked Kloian pastries Valhalla greeted him with once he returned home or the three mugs of tea still sitting on the table suspicious, he didn’t say anything as he gave her a tiny rare smile and murmured gratitude.

It didn’t matter what his family _was_ , only what his family _will be_ , and Valhalla was determined to make it the best one he ever had.


	30. Boars in the Pumpkin Patch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla finds an unwelcomed guest in her crops. Some new information also renews some old doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support so far! I'm glad you are liking my OCs! They can be a bit of a mess sometimes but they're stupid and I love them. 
> 
> Also: thank you for reading this far! Chapter 30 and 100k words! I hope I can continue this at your expectations until I complete it (which I honestly do not know when that is whoops c; ). 
> 
> If you have any questions or requests, feel free to talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/)

There was a giant boar standing in the middle of her pumpkin patch.

It took a heartbeat to realize what she was looking but, but once she did, Valhalla let out a string of curses in her native tongue as she set the kettle down onto the stove with slightly more force than necessary, forgoing her sandals in favor of wrenching the door open and stepping out onto the cool planks of the deck. Agrion was sitting at the bottom of the step, watching the boar but making no move to actually do anything about it, his body rather relaxed in consideration that there was a foreign creature tramping through her crops.

“ _Some help you are,”_ Valhalla muttered, causing the wolf’s ears to twitch but otherwise kept his attention on the massive swine.

It probably was for the best that Agrion knew what fights to pick, as this creature was both taller, broader, and longer than the wolf, who himself came up to Valhalla’s hip at the shoulders. Even at a distance, it appeared that it would come up to almost her elbow at the shoulder, perhaps even higher, and was much longer than she was tall. Its tusks appeared to be larger than her fist, munching on the green rinds of her pumpkins as if they were grass.

But its bristly fur was dyed an odd shade of pink, and it was wearing goggles around its eyes that it didn’t even seem to notice, happily chowing its way through the vegetables that it had gotten access to after knocking down a fence post.

“Hey!”

Valhalla moved around Agrion and made her way towards her crops. No boar was going to scare her away, especially ones eating her current livelihood. And with what it was wearing, it had to belong to someone, meaning it wouldn’t be too irritated by her presence as she got closer. Even if it did get aggressive, Valhalla was ready to fight. It was _her_ crops, after all.

The boar lifted its head, sharp teeth mashing pumpkin in a lazy chew. Valhalla hopped over the fence and glared at the creature.

“You no good thief! Get out of my pumpkins!”

The boar merely dropped his head back to take another sample out of the gourd. Valhalla growled in the back of her throat in reminiscing of Agrion as she took hold of one if its tusks.

“No! _No good! Bad!_ ” She gave the tusk a yank, the boar’s head grudgingly following the action with a deep huff. It had been handled to be used to the action, even by unfamiliar hands. Still, handling boars or pig-like creatures was dangerous in any sense, but Valhalla couldn’t bring herself to care as she dragged the creature towards the opening it had made. Its hooves dug into the soil, the only form of protest, but it seemed as if it wasn’t used to having anyone strong enough to force it to do anything as she put her back into it and pulled it along inch by inch even as it grumbled and huffed.

“Boris!”

The boar stilled at the call, the voice unfamiliar to Valhalla. A woman with dark green hair not unsimilar to that of Caroline’s appeared out of the bush, her silky blue tunic flowing slightly in the breeze as she stepped into the clearing. Jewelry glinted in the sunlight as she turned and caught sight of the boar and Valhalla, and immediately put her hands on her hips.

“Boris! What did I tell you about trespassing? You’re not supposed to get caught!”

Boris the boar’s ears drooped slightly, making a sound that could have been sad if Valhalla cared to think of it as such. It slipped its tusk from Valhalla’s relaxing grip and sulked out of the growing plot to do a poor attempt of hiding behind the stranger.

The woman sighed, giving the giant creature a pat before turning her attention back to Valhalla.

“I am sorry about Boris. He tends to wander off as soon as I unhook him from the cart. Usually he ends up looking for truffles in the forest, but it seems like he found himself something better.” Her eyes flitted over to the massacred pumpkins for a brief moment before looking at Valhalla again, all smiles.

“No harm done, right?”

Valhalla took a sideways glance at her poor pumpkins and broken fence. She had taken pride in her weird round gourds, especially the particularly lumpy, lopsided one that was now boar snack. She wasn’t going to have enough to give to everyone now, and she needed to put her fence back in order before it got too cold.

“Oh, I know you!” The woman’s voice pulled Valhalla back to look at her as her hands clapped together, the widest, smuggest smile on her face before she could get a word in edgewise. “You’re that farmer that ol’ Gunther got himself enamored with! Vanilla, or something.” Her eyes trailed up and down the much taller woman, her grin never faltering. “He never mentioned you were one of the Tall Folk of Klo! No wonder he was asking for spiced cocoa, I thought he was just trying to impress with his worldly knowledge.”

“I… don’t believe we’ve met before,” Valhalla said slowly, her brows furrowing as she looked at her. She spoke so fast and with a strange lilt that it was hard for her to understand, even with her ever-growing understanding of the language of the Republic. “You are… Isabel?”

“Isabella, but close enough. I’m surprised he even mentioned me- I’ve harassed him for years now. Used to deal in some artifacts, you see, but got into a different business when the war came Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. He really likes being mysterious. Drives me up the wall sometimes with his roundabout ways of saying things.”

She was _still_ smiling, roguish and untrustworthy. It was like Morris, only instead of getting a soul, Isabella would take everything but the shirt you were wearing and leave you in the middle of the desert for Morris to find. It was slightly unnerving and far too early in the morning to be dealing with it, leaving Valhalla in a state of uncertain awkwardness as she continued on.

“I never thought _Gunther_ of all people would take a fancy to someone, but I shouldn’t have expected anything less. That man is full of surprises even when he isn’t trying to be. Still strange to see one of you Tall Folk here, though. My boys and I see them here and there during out little visits to Gotoro, but the only ones I know of anywhere in Ferngill are in Castle Village, and that’s nowhere near here.”

“There’s others here?” Valhalla blurted out, grasping at the hint of her people and holding it close to her heart, desperate for any news at all from her homeland.

“Sure. Most of the refugees go to Wespire since my home country cares not a lick about the war. Castle Village is right on the border, and they take whatever crafty artisans they can get their hands on. Ain’t many, truth be told. Maybe six or seven that I know of.”

The chances of any of those few being one of her siblings was very slim with only half a dozen of her countrymen, Valhalla knew, but she couldn’t help but hope. But she didn’t have any means to go all the way to Castle Village to find out herself, and a sinking feeling of fear settled in her heart at the thought of their reaction to seeing her here instead of back in Gotoro. They would be upset with her, angry for not defending the cause that got her father killed and the entire country pulled into war. She wasn’t ready to face any of it.

“-Well, if you need anything,” Isabella was saying, giving Boris a pat on the head. “Feel free to stop by! I got some things in my cart that might interest you!”

And with a cheeky wave, the woman walked off, her boar plodding along behind her, leaving Valhalla to deal with the mess it had made.

Valhalla couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh, turning back to her sad excuse of vegetables while her mind wandered. She wished she could know more about her people, about the conditions back in Klo and the war in Gotoro, but she had the feeling that Isabella only told her as much as she did in some attempt to distract her from the mess her boar had made of her farm. It was also curious that she and Gunther had some sort of history, but then again who didn’t have history? Isabella even said she had dealt with artifacts, most likely in the smuggling and sales of them, and Valhalla knew how much Gunther didn’t care for that particular market.

It wasn’t something she was going to worry over. Everyone had their secrets.

Her thoughts went back to her home as she picked up half-eaten shells of pumpkin, saving whatever seeds she could get in order to replant for next year or perhaps even roast some up to eat. It would certainly give Virgil something to snack on instead of forgetting to eat while he buried himself in his books. Some to grow, most to eat sounded like a reasonable plan as she got herself a bucket to salvage the innards of her pumpkins.

She was positive that her mother was still alive, as nothing but Death itself could bring that woman down, and even then it may cower under her reproachful eye. The only other person she had some defiant conclusion that they were still alive was perhaps her oldest brother, Bahram, but only because she and Bahram had similar yet entirely different training when they joined the Kloian Guard. While she followed close in the footsteps of their father, Bahram had been taken under the wing of a more specialized group of individuals. Assassins, perhaps, would be the closest word to describe them. He was both far too quiet and far too stubborn for his own good, and she knew, without a doubt, that he was most likely still alive and well, even if he was still in the thick of things.

That left the other eight of her siblings unaccounted for. She could hope and dream that they were alive and well and not involved in the war at all, but she knew that it was in vain. Shadhavars were inheritably stubborn, and at least some of them would get involved in some way in support of their home and country, especially after the death of their father.

“You were no help,” Valhalla told Agrion once again, who had come over to sit down by the broken fence, watching her with his deep red eyes. An ear flicked, but otherwise unmoved by Valhalla’s words. Ungrateful mutt.

The front door creaked open as soon as Valhalla finished picking up the remains of her destroyed pumpkin, a haggard-looking Virgil stepping out squinting in the sunlight.

“I thought I heard someone,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes that were shadowed with dark circles from neglecting his need to rest. “What happened to the pumpkins…?”

“Someone’s giant pig came and ate them,” Valhalla sighed, dropping the last of the half-eaten shells onto the pile after scraping the seeds into a bucket. She tried to put on a smile, turning her head towards Virgil as she continued. “At least we’ll have seeds to eat! Caroline said you could cook and eat them.”

Virgil’s hands lowered from his eyes, staring blearily at her.

“Are you okay?”

Valhalla blinked back at him, feeling the false cheer fading along with her smile. Virgil only really spoke up when he felt that he had to, and directing the question to her directly meant that she wasn’t doing a good job. Her thoughts were written on her face, and worries and doubts creeping in on her once again, and even as tired as he was, Virgil noticed.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, shoulders slumping as she carried the bucket over to sit on the stair, Virgil settling down beside her. “Isabella mentioned about some of my people being in Castle Village.”

Virgil’s frown deepened, looking down at the grass growing through the cracks of shale pathway. “And you can’t confirm if any are your family,” he picked out her thought process easily, tucking his hands into his sleeves.

“There aren’t many, but... I can’t go. Not when I’m… well…”

A warm weight rested onto her arm, Virgil tipping to lean against her in silent comfort.

The discussion of getting her a visa had come up once or twice when they had been living in Virgil’s tiny apartment. While the language barrier was stronger than it was now, she knew enough to convey to him that it would be a bad idea. It was only confirmed when the Enforcers came, trying to sniff her out. As soon as they found her they would instantly send her back to the front of the war. It was why the others went to neighboring countries instead of Ferngill, because Ferngill didn’t care about them, not really. The others didn’t either, but they were cheap work force and not being drained of resources to fund a war, nor did they have the stigma against anyone from the same continent that the Gotoro Empire resided in.

She just wanted some sign that her family was doing okay. The only way she could get anything would be through her own people, but she wasn’t ready to face them, not when abandoning her duties in favor of playing farmer, even if her mother told her to.

“Do you think I am doing the right thing?” she whispered softly, her eyes turning to look at her remaining crops that survived a casual snacking on by a massive boar. “Being out here instead of helping my country?”

Virgil was quiet for a long time, Valhalla almost thinking he had fallen asleep before her ears heard his quiet reply.

“There are hundreds of stories where the hero fails their goals because they were so busy trying to help everyone else, that they didn’t help themselves when they needed it the most.”

She could feel his arms curl around hers, clinging to her as his eyes closed. “I… do not know how I can help you, but I can tell you what I know, and I know that… you are better now than you ever were since I’ve met you.”

Valhalla couldn’t help but smile, small but kind as she lowered her head to bury her nose into his hair.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into the strands. Virgil was right, in a way. She was doing what her mother told her to do, and finding herself along the way. Even if it still hurt that she wasn’t helping her people fight back their oppressors, it was something that needed to be done.

She couldn’t be help to anyone if she was too lost in her own grief to care about herself and got herself killed.

“Come on,” Valhalla said quietly after several minutes of holding their positions on the stairs, turning so that her other arm could hook under Virgil’s knees, lifting him up off the porch as he made a grumbling whine in the back of his throat. “You’re falling asleep on me.”

“’m not.” His head was already resting against her chest, not fighting her with his eyes fluttering in attempt to stay awake. He mustn’t have slept in at least three days to be this bad of a condition.

“You’ve been awake for too long. Someday I will get you to sleep every night.” That day may never happen, but Valhalla couldn’t help but be hopeful as she carefully stepped over piles of papers and books open to certain pages in order to tuck him into his mainly untouched bed.

He said something incoherent, the words slurred and under his breath as his eyelids drooped shut, dozing off now that he was horizontal and wrapped in warm, comfortable blankets. Valhalla gently threaded her fingers through his hair, shaking her head in quiet disbelief as she stroked his hair for one or two passes before moving away.

The first person she had to help was herself, Virgil’s words rang in Valhalla’s head as she shut the door softly behind her. Perhaps she had been fixating too hard on helping everyone else, but she couldn’t help it. It was in her nature to care for everyone and forget that she too needed to be looked after. It was easy to pretend everything was well, to bury her sorrows under her everyday life and the problems of her friends.

Kiraz settled in on her shoulder as she began to clean off the pumpkin seeds in the kitchen sink, washing down the slime and pulp as she let her mind wander. It had been some time since she had doubted herself, she realized. Between Virgil’s return, Gunther’s kind hands, and everyone else in the village being so _nice_ to her, she was gradually learning that perhaps, things would be okay in the end.

“Someday, I will see my family again,” she told the orange Junimo, handing the spirit a seed that it happily took between its tiny fingers. “Someday, I will be able to take care of them again. But I first need to make a place they can come to that I will be proud to show them so that we can all be at peace.”

Kiraz burbled in her ear, causing it to twitch as she patted the seeds dry with a towel before letting them stand as she went out to fix her fence, clear the torn pumpkin vines and bury the empty gourd skins to let them rot.

It may not be what her country needed, but it was something _she_ needed, her family needed. And that was all that mattered right now.  


	31. Whispers in the Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla finds herself with some conflicting emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, another day! 
> 
> Thank you for all the support so far! I'm glad everyone is still enjoying this story as much as I love writing it! 
> 
> This chapter contains some backroom suggestive themes in some creative use of literary means. Nothing blatant but you'll know where it's heading (of which in case you wish to know, the rating for this story will not change in the least).
> 
> If you have any questions or requests, feel free to talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/)

“You spelled everything right, Valhalla!”

Valhalla threw her hands up, nearly tipping her chair over as she let out a loud shout of triumph. Jas and Vincent turned at the same time to put a finger to their lips and shush her, although their giggling wasn’t quiet either, nor did it muffle the sudden bark of a laugh from the front desk.

“You can’t shout in a library,” Penny admonished, but smile played on her lips all the same as Valhalla tipped her chair back onto all four legs as gently as she could without jarring the floors. “Even if it is good news.”

“Sorry.” Valhalla wasn’t, beaming with pride as she looked down at the first completed worksheet with everything written out correctly. It had been a slow time coming, but _finally_ , she was starting to see the fruits of Penny’s labors in teaching her how to read and write in the Republic’s language. Her comprehension was getting better, but her spelling was still quite atrocious, as there were so many words that didn’t sound like the way they were actually spelled, capitalization, punctuation, proper grammar- it was all a jumble of confusion for her.

Valhalla leaned over to peer over Vincent’s shoulder as he slowly dragged his pencil across the page, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated on the words he was etching. “What are you writing?” she whispered as Penny gently read over Jas’ work.

“Writing a letter to Dad,” he whispered back, perking up at the question. “He’s gonna be coming home soon, but Mom said I could send letters! And Miss Penny’s making us practice writing letters anyway, with, uh… greetings and things.”

“Why are you leaving such a big space?” Valhalla tapped the massive splotch of empty paper, massive in the way that children did with their rather large and slightly crooked handwriting. Vincent beamed.

“I’m gonna draw him a picture!”

“Oh! That sounds fun!”

“You can write one too!” Vincent happily slapped an empty piece of paper over to her, leaning against her arm as she picked up a pencil.

“Who should I write to?”

“Whoever you like!”

Valhalla made a scene of humming, tapping the eraser to her mouth as she puzzled over the empty paper. She really couldn’t write to her family like Vincent could, no matter how much she wanted to.

“I think I got a person,” she said with a slight curl upward of her lips, lowering the tip of the pencil to the page. But before she could write anything, Vincent wrapped his arms around one of her own and gasped loudly, forcing her to pause.

“You have to start with “Dear Person’s Name” first! Otherwise they might get confused and give it to someone else!”

“Oh! I didn’t know that! Thank you!”

Vincent grinned, and Valhalla wrote down exactly what he said, word for word as the complimentary greeting before continuing on with the rest of the message.

“Don’t forget to end it with “Love”!” Jas leaned on her other arm. “You got to tell them you love them, otherwise they won’t know and they’ll be sad!”

“You can end letters other ways too,” Penny smiled, seemingly having had this conversation before. Still, Valhalla was obedient to the children, finishing in writing out her short letter and ended it with the correct words.

“Now you got to draw a picture!” Vincent exclaimed, shoving a box of semi-broken crayons in her direction.

“Of course. Can’t have a letter without any color.”

“See Miss Penny! Miss Valhalla knows!” Jas put her hands on her hips, causing a small laugh to escape the other woman as Valhalla picked up the blue crayon and went to work. It was strange how one could color with _wax_ of all things, but somehow Ferngill figured it out, and it seemed to be a favored pastime for the children. The rounded edges made it hard to make any precision, and the crayons themselves were so _small_ in her hands, that Valhalla knew that she wasn’t going to do a good job at all. Still, it gave the children something to do, glad to have an adult that was on the same level as they were and willing to let them guide her through the steps that they knew. Valhalla didn’t mind at all, and Penny was happy to have someone who could keep at least one of them preoccupied and out of trouble while she attended to the other.

“How do you send letters?” Valhalla inquired as she passed the blue crayon over to the young boy after he patiently waited in his seat by kicking the legs of his chair in a rhythm.

“You put them in enevelopes and put stamps on them!”

“Envelopes,” Penny corrected gently.

“Oh. En…velopes?” Vincent repeated, beaming as Penny smiled at him and nodded.

“Do you use stamps too?” Jas asked Valhalla, reaching over to snag a purple crayon.

“Oh no. My people use birds. They care not for stamps or envelopes.”

She got a chorus of “cool!” from the two children, pausing in their work to ogle at her with wide eyes.

“Of course, if we can, we deliver them by hand too. Mr. Lewis does that.”

“Sometimes he stays for coffee with Aunt Marnie,” Jas stated as she went back to drawing on her letter, giving it some purple flowers. “Uncle Shane doesn’t like it too much, though.”

“It is a good thing I do not need Mr. Lewis to deliver my letter to your house, then,” Valhalla teased, rising up from her chair. “In fact, I am going to deliver it right now.”

“But you gotta put it in an envelope first!” Vincent cried, quickly grasping one and crinkling its corner slightly as he waved it up to her, nearly standing up on his chair to get higher up. “It’s the rules!”

“Okay okay!” Valhalla, laughing, gently folded the letter small enough to fit it into the envelope, ruffling Vincent’s hair into a wild mess that made him protest and try to smooth it back down with his hands as she went around his chair. She didn’t even need to go outside for this particular letter, leaning against the counter as Gunther flipped through several papers with tiny text and slightly bigger diagrams.

“Having fun over there?” he asked, eyes drifting over to her as he set the papers down so he could stand up from his chair.

“I always enjoy my time here,” Valhalla smiled, before sliding over the letter. “I made something for you.”

“Did you, now?” Gunther took the proffered envelope with a soft thanks and gentle brush of fingers. He carefully slid the letter out, unfolding it as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, exposing his golden eyes as he cleared his throat.

“’Dear Persons Name’,” he quoted, the whiskers of his goatee shifting slightly as he fought back a smile. “’Why you wear blue when-‘ oh my.”

Valhalla could feel her lips curling into a smug smile.

“Jahangir, you shouldn’t write these things in front of children.” There was no bite in Gunther’s words, his voice laced with amusement.

“I wrote no words they don’t know already.”

“It’s the context that it’s in. Is that supposed to be my clothes?”

“Of course, It’s all blue! I even signed it as I should!”

There was a rumbling chuckle that was escaping Gunther’s throat, his eyes closing as he pulled his blue-tinted spectacles off his nose and setting them onto the counter so he could rub the bridge of his nose. It made Valhalla smile even wider.

“What am I going to do with you?” he murmured in humored disbelief, opening his beautiful eyes again to explore the letter before him. “You are simply too much.”

Valhalla laughed, a deep, rich sound that sounded almost foreign even in her own ears.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me if you had me.”

At this she stuck her tongue out at him, and watched as his lips curled upward, his smile sharp and almost primal as he set his hands down onto the counter, leaning closer as his golden eyes burned into hers.

“Would you like to find out what I can do?”

And then he stuck his tongue out back at her between his teeth and smile.

Valhalla didn’t know whether to be thoroughly thankful or be terribly frustrated when Jas and Vincent came barreling through the shelves and clinging to her legs, laughing.

“Come on, Miss Valhalla! Miss Penny gave us stamps so we can mail out our letters!”

“Okay okay, you scamps,” she laughed, dropping her hands to both of their heads as she straightened up from the counter. She turned her attention over to Gunther as he slid his glasses back onto his nose as if nothing happened, but her eyes caught his golden gaze just before he could push the blue lenses up to cover them.

The heartbeat passed before her attention was pulled away by the two small hands taking her own and tugging her along out the door, oblivious to what had transpired in favor of leading their friend to Vincent’s mailbox, Penny walking beside them with a fond smile on her face.

“You two are getting close,” she commented once they waved Jas off at the ranch with Shane at the doorway, the sun peeking out from behind the trees as it settled down for the night, leaving the days shorter and shorter as they passed. “I haven’t seen Mr. Gunther speak so freely with anyone before. He tended to keep to himself when he came, you know, but he seems to really enjoy speaking to you in particular.”

“He’s a good man,” Valhalla replied simply with a hum, her eyes turning skyward. He had such passion for his work, a gentleness but fire in his heart and in his eyes. Even in the short few weeks they had opened up a little more about each other, to give this growing relationship a chance, Valhalla felt warmth in her heart and fondness in her memories whenever she thought of him, but something familiar _burned_ within her, greater than it had in the past.

Perhaps this is what her mother was always talking about in regard to their father.

“Miss Valhalla?”

Valhalla blinked, finding her hands covering her head and lost in staring at the very first stars that hinted in the darkening skies. She lowered her gaze to Penny, who was looking up at her with concern marring her pretty face. “Are you okay?”

“I am well,” she smiled, her hands dropping. “Come, let’s get you back home.”

Penny tried to politely excuse her from leading her home, but Valhalla was adamant. In the end she guided Penny along with a hand on her back, chatting about her pumpkins while internally crushing down every other emotion and feeling. But the wild side of her, the untempered, _primordial_ heritage passed unto her by her mother’s bloodline stirred in its hypothetical chains, awakening from its forceful rest when she fled from the bloodlust and blind, sorrow-filled _rage_ of the battlefield, not because of those emotions but of some deep _craving_.

The Empire always referred to the people of Klo as savage barbarians, and perhaps there was some truth to it as her eyes caught the light of the rising moon and dying sun in an eerie glow that she caught in the reflection of darkened windows, far brighter than it ever had been in reflecting the pale light. Evil, possessed, even, on the same level as the monsters and wild beasts that prowled the deserts and savannahs of her homeland.

After all, the only thing that could live with the vicious beasts were other beasts.

She waved Penny a goodnight at the steps of her trailer home, Pam already at The Stardrop and would remain there for most of the evening. There was an old hurt there, but Valhalla wasn’t going to pry into their past.

Valhalla hesitated in stopping by at the saloon as she began to venture away from Penny’s home. She hadn’t been in for a long time, but Virgil was at the farm and most likely going to forget to eat again. She had set a bag of roasted pumpkin seeds onto his desk before she left, though, so maybe that would be enough of a suggestion. Still, the loss of a good portion of her pumpkins to a ravenous boar cut into the profit she would make before winter, and they needed to save every coin they earned so they could get through it if their stock-up of preserves ran dry.

Her ears twitched as they picked up a sound, a door opening beyond the burble of the river as it made its lazy descent towards the sea and the occasional rustle of the leaves as the wind drifted clouds over the heavens. In the darkness across the bridge was the shape of Gunther, putting something into the mailbox that was outside the library before he locked up for the night. Valhalla found her feet moving without realizing it, sandals quiet against the flagstones of the bridge as she made her way over towards the man, the blue tint of his glasses looking black as the moon became blotted out by the clouds.

“Oh, good evening, Valhalla.” He sounded genuinely surprised, the mailbox creaking as he pushed the lid closed. “I thought you’d be home by now.”

“Took Penny home,” she answered, but she was finding herself feeling lost for words. It was strange, finding herself so uncertain about herself when she usually was so confident as Gunther turned fully towards her.

“I’m sorry.” It was the first thing that came tumbling out of her mouth, blurting out between the turmoil of emotions that writhed in her chest.

“Whatever for?” Even Gunther was confused, his brows furrowing above the lenses of his spectacles.

Valhalla found herself in a mix of things. A part of her wanted to just reach out and take hold of the front of his shirt and pull him in. A part was trying to stomp that desire down, not wanting to ruin things so quickly just because she couldn’t control herself. She craved his kindness, craved to pin him down and ravish him where he stood, but was scared of snapping the fragile bond of trust that was growing between them. He wasn’t some one time outlet like she used so many others in the past before the war, even if they were more than willing to be such. She wanted to keep him close, but feared that he would disappear if she let him.

Fingers gently traced over her cheekbones, smoothing thumbs over the crease between her own brows. Gunther had taken off his glasses at some point, golden eyes gazing at her are gloveless fingers cupped her face with concern.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he whispered quietly, and Valhalla could feel a sigh leaving her as she lowered her head to rest her forehead against his, nearly disturbing the hat from his head.

“It’s stupid,” Valhalla mumbled lowly.

“None of your concerns and worries are stupid, Jahangir.”

Valhalla breathed in a deep breath, reaching up to clasp her hands over his own, the warmth pressing against her cheeks. “I’m afraid to ruin this,” she finally admitted, her voice so soft she may as well never had spoken at all. She never really had the time to form an attachment quite like this, feared herself in how far she would go. They both had their own secrets, and while Valhalla had said much to him, she was still scared that she would do something that would cause him to leave.

Lips pressed against hers drew her out of the circling thoughts, the whiskers of his goatee tickling against her skin. Valhalla let herself lean into it, something warm stirring in her heart even as the gentle, chaste kiss was pulled apart, Gunther’s face so close her own now that she could simply sink back into it once more.

“You could never ruin this,” Gunther murmured, his voice so soft yet so earnest. “Nothing you could do would never chase me away, _my treasure._ ”

The last two words were in a language she had never heard before, but they were so heartfelt that she couldn’t help but feel a small smile creep onto her lips as his fingers weaved through her own.

“Stay the night.” The whisper leaving Gunther was full of gentle love that it made her own heart flutter inside her chest, tampering the wildness that she had been trying to ignore into something _unfamiliar_ , warm and quietly yearning instead of demanding.

“Only for the night,” Valhalla replied softly. “I must be home tomorrow.”

The smile she received made her limbs feel a little weak, letting the man lead her through the library door into the semi-darkness in fear that if she let go she would simply topple over.

For the briefest of moments before her mind became preoccupied elsewhere, Valhalla wished that tomorrow never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> winkwonk. 
> 
> I haven't decided yet if I will actually write the scene that follows in its own piece or not. I'm kind of bad at writing those particular parts, but I can certainly try if anyone wants to see it. Won't turn up in this story, so don't worry.


	32. Siavash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stardew Valley Fair comes around, and Valhalla finds a familiar face in the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support! I hope this story is still as good as it was at the start! 
> 
> This chapter's a happy one, but shhh, spoilers c:
> 
> I did write and post this instead of sleeping, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.
> 
> If you have any questions or requests, feel free to talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Enjoy!

Fall was in full swing by now, the leaves a brilliant display of golds and reds as the air cooled. Frost began to creep upon the glass some mornings, crisping the vines of her pumpkins and causing the last few flowers to wilt.

Valhalla wiped the remaining dirt of the last of her harvested pumpkins, beaming at the collection of gourds sitting on the porch step. It had been a surprise to see a few more pumpkins growing hidden underneath the large leaves, but Valhalla was thrilled all the same. Giant orange gourds with thick rinds, a few smaller fruit with skins as white as sun-bleached bone, one that was flat on one side and had more pebbly bumps than anything else in a mixture of yellow, green, and orange.

“That’s the last of them,” she said cheerfully to Virgil, who was kneeling down on the deck beside the odd little pumpkin, the sleeves of his sweater rolled up and running his fingers over its uneven surface in soothing strokes. “We should get these out to town before the Fair starts.”

Lewis himself had made sure that Valhalla knew about the Stardew Valley Fair. It was something of a mix between a farmer’s market, a petting zoo, and fun games and prizes, or so she could gather between both Lewis’ and Virgil’s explanations. It was the biggest celebration that Pelican Town had- its reach spreading through the entirety of the Valley. Farmers, gardeners, and craftspeople from all over Stardew Valley would come and set up stalls in the cobblestone streets of Pelican Town, and people from Zuzu City and beyond would visit the countryside for an “authentic country experience”.

Valhalla had no idea what that meant, but she merely nodded all the same during the explanation as if she did understand.

Still, it was getting closer to a holiday near the turn of fall into winter on the calendars, something about Spirits Eve or another name likening to it. It was only briefly mentioned by Marnie when Valhalla had gone to ask about chickens come spring, and pumpkins were apparently very popular to carve out and make jack-o’-lanterns. As it turned out, they cut pumpkins open and scoop out the insides and carved faces and images into the thick rinds and put candles inside to light them up. She asked Virgil after she returned home, and the short version he gave for her benefit was that it was to scare malevolent spirits away. Good spirits would see the carved pumpkins as they were, but evil spirits would see dangerous monsters that would devour them whole and make them fear for themselves.

Well, that was the region’s belief of it. Outside of the Valley, there were other mythology that spanned far and wide, but they all seemed to relate to spirits or souls of the departed. It made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle a little at the thought and made a note to ask Rasmodius about the truth of it. He would seem to know more about these things. In the meantime, she continued to put roasted pumpkin seeds into the offering plate by her front door and hoped that would appease any wandering spirits or hungry birds.

In any case, Valhalla had decided to bring her multitude of pumpkins to the Fair. She set the best aside for the townsfolk, but there was still a surprising multitude that she could sell away. She gave the two Junimos crawling over the largest of the gourds with a smile in the corners of her lips as she shook her head at them. They never would make any sign that they knew how she had more pumpkins than she started out with. She had learned that months ago.

Valhalla picked up the first of the pumpkins to move them off the deck to a small garden cart Jodi had let her borrow. She hadn’t want to get the cart dirty, even at the expense of her deck getting covered in dried caked mud and dust from her pumpkins. Now they were wiped down and clean enough to move, carefully stacking them one at a time into the cart.

“You want to ride on the back?” she turned to Virgil, who was holding the misshapen, discolored pumpkin he had taken a silent liking to in his arms. “Make sure the others don’t roll out when I’m not paying attention?”

“Alright,” he agreed only after a moment of hesitation, climbing into the back of the cart while Valhalla lifted it up to roll down the shale pathway towards the road that led to town. “I may go off to work on something in the library, if that is okay.”

“Of course!” Valhalla turned her head to smile at him over her shoulder. “I know you don’t care much for the people, and Lewis did say there may be more of a crowd this time than last year.”

She could see Virgil pulling a face, tucking himself closer around the pumpkin in his arms before she turned to face the road ahead of her. Virgil never was one for large crowds. He grew nervous around a single stranger- multiple were just too much. While Valhalla was too a little uneasy to show her face to tons of people, especially after what happened days after the Luau, but Lewis claimed that all sorts of people came to the Fair, and she would be easier to blend in.

If anything, Robin had elbowed her ribs and told her she could pretend to be Demetrius’ overbearing older sister. Demetrius had nearly slipped on the riverbed and fell into the river where he had been studying the cattails upon hearing that, causing Robin to lean on Valhalla and howl with laughter. At least she had that, she supposed with a warm heart. It was nice having friends who cared for her.

Just as a precaution- and for her own sanity- Valhalla decided to hide her ears under a bandana that kept her hair back from tickling the tips too much. It was getting longer now, and at a length that wasn’t too long to push behind her ears and keep the strands there. Between the push-back hair and swirling purple and green fabric around her head, Valhalla’s pointed ears were hidden.

The cart jolted a little as she pulled it off the dirt road to the cobblestone of the square, the whole town changed before her eyes with dozens upon dozens of stalls and tables, people setting up and laughing, many of whom Valhalla didn’t recognize.

“Hey! Valhalla!”

Valhalla felt herself grinning, pulling the cart over to Pierre as he waved at her from a row of grange displays, the one behind him half-full with wonderful produce.

“Didn’t I give you that eggplant the other day?” she asked, glancing over at the said purple produce. Pierre’s smile became somewhat strained, clearing his throat.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’re mistaken.” He smoothed his smile back into a more genuine one. “Lewis said you weren’t going to be competing this year. I suppose the thrill of competition is not for everyone.”

“It’s simply not my thing,” Valhalla shrugged with a smile and patting Virgil on the shoulder as he hopped out from the back of the cart, the lumpy pumpkin still in his arms. “Say hello to Gunther for me if you see him,” she murmured to him, the red-haired young man nodding gently before scuttling away, shoulders hunched and pumpkin clutched close to his chest as he made his way through the others.

“I can never get my head around how _small_ your friend is,” Pierre shook his head, watching after Virgil.

“Virgil is Virgil,” Valhalla replied with a hum, picking up the handle of the cart again. “I must get these pumpkins set up. Good luck with my eggplant!” And with a wink, Valhalla left the flustering shopkeeper at the grange display as she went off to her assigned table, elated to be able to read her own name on the thin piece of paper taped to the front of the table.

It wasn’t even an hour before the visitors began to swarm in, music and laughter filling the usually peaceful streets as hundreds of people descended onto the quaint little town. Excitement bubbled inside her chest as Valhalla greeted the people who wandered to her table, more than happy to sell pumpkins to them at relatively cheap prices or at discount (“Your balloon looked like it needed another friend” was a common phrase, paired with a smile as she tied the children’s balloons to the stems of their newfound pumpkins).

If her accent intrigued people, they never said anything, always smiling and acting as if she was just any other citizen of the Republic.

Another hour passed, and Valhalla was out of pumpkins to sell. She made sure to clean off her table before taking the time to explore the other tables and displays, admiring the beautiful stain on Robin’s handmade furniture, spending some of the money she had gotten for her pumpkins on some strange chocolate-dipped treats and even stranger fried items that she was both disgusted and fascinated by.

She didn’t touch any of the games, even though she stopped by and watched. Jas and Vincent giggled at trying to catch some fish in a barrel, enjoying more of getting thoroughly wet by splashing against the water than actually catching anything. Penny was leaving a disgruntled games master with fistfuls of tokens, a proud flush to her pale cheeks. Lewis was standing guard of the voting box being used for the grange displaying, one that Pierre was also hovering close to being perpetually nosy.

Valhalla let out a small laugh at that, polishing off the last of some fried cake thing that was surprisingly delicious before crumpling up the wax paper and depositing it into the garbage can. Pierre was one of a kind, that was for sure, always wanting to be on top in any competition. It was perhaps a good thing he had Caroline to keep him at heel before he could go entirely out of control.

She wandered over towards the river, where paddocks of animals were kept. Several children were petting sheep or trying to feed chickens handfuls of grain while parents stood by and chatted. Shane stood guard by the chickens, making sure the children didn’t hurt them or feed them something they shouldn’t be feeding them. Marnie was standing on the other side of the paddocks with bundles of fleece from her flock of sheep she had sheared in the spring, talking to someone who stood well above her in height. Their back was to her, but Valhalla was struck by how… _familiar_ the profile was. The sides of their head was cut short, the top long and braided. The way they held themselves and the silk that draped off their shoulders was far too much like Kloian design that Valhalla could not be mistaking it for something else.

Marnie noticed Valhalla and smiled, waving at her. This caused the other to turn, and Valhalla felt her breath and her heart lodging into her throat.

“ _Siavash…?_ ”

The angular face, the sharp cheekbones, the piercing lilac purple eyes- even the hoop through her nose and bars in her eyebrows were the same as they were so many years ago. Her face, for the briefest of seconds, was as smooth as carved marble, stern and giving away no emotion, and yet when they settled onto Valhalla, her entire features shifted, starting with her eyes that widened as her expressionless façade faded under the sheer shock of the moment.

“ _Jahangir?”_

Valhalla didn’t know when her feet starting moving, nor noticed when the other’s feet propelled her forward, but they met halfway, Valhalla’s strong arms wrapping around the taller woman’s waist and all but crushing her close, her cheeks already wet with tears as she pulled Siavash’s face down to press kisses against her cheek, fingers straying over her features just to make sure she was _real_ , that she was really there and _alive_ and not a figment of her imagination.

She could feel warm droplets as well settled into her hair, refined fingers curling around her and holding her as if her life depended on it.

They began to talk at the same time, trying to convey their thoughts as they held each other’s faces, sentences beginning and ending before they could even begin to form them on their tongues.

“ _I thought I would never see you again!_ ” Siavash whispered, her beautiful face streaked with tears. “ _The last I heard from anyone you had been captured and that was over two years ago!_ ”

“ _You know I could never stay down for long,”_ Valhalla replied back, her words shaky with a hiccupping laugh as she smiled at her younger sister. Siavash smiled, her usual stoic face breaking under the moment as she ran her fingers through Valhalla’s hair, pulling away the bandana.

“ _You kept it short_.” Her words came out in slight dismay and heartache.

“ _I’ve been growing it back!”_ Valhalla consoled her quickly, gripping at her forearms as Siavash did the same to her, standing so close they could share their body heat with each other. Siavash may be taller, but she was much lither than Valhalla, who was built like a humanoid bear. Her younger sister stood over the heads of everyone, tall and strong like a willow tree. 

“ _How on earth did you get here?”_

“ _I was in Castle Village when I got the strangest of phone calls,”_ Siavash murmured, her eyes trailing over to someone behind her. “ _That I should visit Pelican Town._ ”

Valhalla let go of Siavash long enough to look around. Standing beside a beaming Marnie and a slightly less grouchy Shane, was Virgil, his shoulders hunching up now that he had two sets of eyes on him, clutching the bumpy pumpkin in his arms.

Valhalla descended upon him immediately, kneeling down so that she was eye level with the slight young man.

“You called her?” she asked, her words nearly inaudible as Virgil’s ears tinged pink, the color creeping over his freckled cheeks as he found the pumpkin he had taken a liking to much more fascinating to look at.

“Gunther and Rasmodius helped,” he mumbled lowly. “I just… didn’t want to take a risk of not following up the rumor.”

Valhalla couldn’t stop herself as she leaned over and pressed her lips against his forehead, cutting off whatever other explanation that was to follow.

“Thank you.” The words were heartfelt, stroking his face as the skin of his pale cheeks flushed a brilliant scarlet, looking ready to bury himself into the collar of his turtleneck sweater. She half wanted to go off and find Gunther and Rasmodius as well in whatever part they plated in this and thank them, but Virgil had been the mastermind of this surprise. If she hadn’t mentioned the rumor Isabella had told her, she would have never met the first of her siblings alive and well in so many years.

“ _You adopted him, didn’t you?_ ” came the amused tone as Siavash knelt down beside them, causing Virgil to turn an even brighter shade of red and tucked his chin into his collar. “ _You act like Mother when she takes in a stray._ ”

Valhalla stuck her tongue out at her, which got her a humored look in response before her piercing eyes settled onto Virgil.

“I suppose you are family now,” she said simply. “I am Siavash. Thank you for being with my sister when she had no other family by her side.”

Virgil’s face was buried up to his eyes in fabric, his ears burning as he peeked up at the other woman.

“’lo,” he mumbled, and Siavash’s eyes flitted over to Valhalla once more.

“ _He’s practically a child,”_ she whispered into her ear, her words laced with disbelief.

“ _He’s an adult,”_ Valhalla hissed back.

“ _He’s so small! He cannot be left alone like this! You better be taking good care of him, Jahangir.”_

“ _Is that icy heart of yours finally melting?!”_ Valhalla let out a mock gasp, clutching at her heart. “ _I never thought such time apart would make a woman who bred giant man-eating spiders favor a small human!”_

Valhalla only got a heartbeat of a warning before Siavash shoved her, causing her to tip right over and roll down the short embankment into the river with a splash. The water was cool, but the fall sun was warm as she sat up with a spluttering laugh, grinning from ear to ear as Siavash rose to her feet, her face smoothed back down to its signature stoic expression aside from the perfect eyebrow that was quirked upward and the tear tracks still on her cheeks. Marnie was laughing, Virgil looked conflicted, and an eyeful of blue covered her main view of focus as Gunther slid down the bank with precise grace after crossing the bridge from the library- no doubt having seen the entire situation from the building.

“I thought you learned your lesson before that rivers and you do not mix well,” he commented with a hum, offering out a hand while Valhalla grasped it, both of them pulling to get her out of her water and back onto dry land.

“But you _like_ seeing me wet,” she couldn’t help but purr, leaning in to kiss his cheek- and to soak through his clothes as she pinned him to her chest. His hat was missing, which made it easy for her to wipe her face against his long hair, causing him to let out a dramatic sigh while his mouth twitched into a smile.

“You are incorrigible,” he said simply, wiggling a finger into her ribs to cause her to squawk slightly and let go of him to put some distance between herself and wayward tickling hands.

Both of Siavash’s eyebrows were up now, eyeing Gunther up. Her eyes turned to Valhalla then as she made her way back up the bank, and there was that _knowing_ look that made Valhalla grin sheepishly.

“Ah… well… this is Gunther.”

“We’ve met,” Siavash replied, her voice cool and saying nothing. “But he never did say he was… _close_ … to you.” She gave Valhalla another look. “Very close, I see.”

“…He’s a good kisser,” Valhalla said, unhelpfully, causing Siavash to give her another silent look that said “ _you’re an idiot”._

 _“_ You were always chasing after the tails of others, I suppose,” Siavash sighed. “And you’ve always fancied the face of danger as well. I see that part of you has not changed.”

Valhalla blinked, confusion settling onto her face, feeling as if this was an inside joke that flew right over her head. “What danger?”

This time it was Siavash to grow confused, but Valhalla only knew by the look in her eyes as they flitted back to Gunther. “It is nothing,” she settled on blithely with a wave of her hand. “Just a meaningless comment and nothing more.”

Valhalla didn’t have time to ponder over it as her sister weaved her arm through hers regardless of the river water that was dripping off her clothes, leaning close to her ear.

“ _We should catch up,”_ she whispered in a tone that meant _“let us speak in private”._

“ _The beach should be clear,”_ Valhalla replied, before turning to Gunther. “Think I can drop by later?”

“Of course,” Gunther nodded as he knelt down to whisper to Virgil, who gave him a quiet nod to whatever agreement they made, his grip on his pumpkin lessening from its previous strangle hold. Valhalla smiled at them both, knowing Gunther would watch over Virgil and keep him from getting overwhelmed by the crowds in the shelter of the library before leading her sister away, their heads bent together as they whispered their stories and tales to each other.

With over five years of being apart, they had plenty to catch up on, and Valhalla had never been happier.


	33. Oceanside Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valhalla and Siavash discuss a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! c: I am also glad Valhalla finally has family! As for Valhalla not realizing things, well, it comes up in this chapter a little. 
> 
> There is some brush-up on Valhalla's part in the war, but nothing too serious. Also I wrote this instead of sleeping, and I will say I will go back and edit it but I most likely will not. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The beach was calm when Valhalla and Siavash stepped onto the sand, the fall sun radiating the last of summer’s warmth it could offer. Valhalla used this chance to pull her soggy shirt over her head while they walked onto the pier, her ears picking up the sharp intake of breath of shock from her sister behind her.

“Not nice, isn’t it?” Valhalla mused, her mouth pulling into a sad smile as she draped the wet shirt over a barrel to dry before sitting down onto a bench, space enough for Siavash to settle beside her. “I suppose… that is the cost of war.”

“It should not have happened at all,” Siavash muttered fiercely, hesitating only a moment before her fingers traced over the very fridges of the scars that littered across her back. Valhalla leaned onto her knees, letting out a deep sigh as he gazed out towards the water while her sister’s warm touch trailed over the physical memories of her time spent in the care of Gotoro that marred the ink etched into her skin.

“ _What really happened to you, Jahangir?”_ Siavash whispered softly in their native tongue, her fingers slipping from the scarred tattoo of her back to rest on Valhalla’s arm, her cool face of stone shifting to honest concern. “ _From what I heard from others, you all but disappeared on a vengeful warpath as soon as Father was put to rest.”_

Valhalla couldn’t speak, instead shifting her hands to take hold of Siavash’s and squeezing her fingers.

“ _It is as they say,”_ she managed to reply back, her words choking in her throat. “ _I have done inexcusable things for… nothing. Nothing I would and could do would bring him back, justify him in his death. I abandoned my entire family that still breathed, not seeing hide nor hair of them for years, because I was too_ broken _to see that what I was doing was futile.”_

_“You were always the one to carry our burdens without letting us know about them.”_ Siavash’s lips pulled into a frown, threading her fingers through Valhalla’s so that they could hold onto each other for support. “ _But you did not abandon us. If anything, we abandoned you. In one day, you became the lone figurehead of our people, not even allowed to grieve for our Father. And we all disappeared into the wind, your family, whom you spent years helping Mother raise, hiding us from the hardships of the wilds and making us live happy while you bore the weight and responsibilities of your heritage in silence. You always wanted us to be safe and happy, but… I fled the moment the war came upon us. I did not want to think about it, to worry about it, I ran and hid and carried on with my life. I did nothing to help, reach out to assist. I ran, as the coward I am, and the coward I will always be.”_

_“I see no one here who is a coward,”_ Valhalla whispered, gently pulling Siavash closer and into her lap. Even while Siavash was taller than her, Valhalla was the eldest, and the other melted into her as Valhalla curled her arms around her and pulled her in, Siavash burying her head into the crook of her neck like she had done so many years ago as a small child. “ _No woman who raises spiders larger than cattle would ever be a coward in my eyes.”_

_“You’re too soft,”_ Siavash mumbled, but there was a wetness soaking against Valhalla’s skin, too warm and salty to be the river water that had all but dried on her exposed shoulder. “ _Can you ever think poorly of us?”_

_“Never. Not even if you had joined the Empire.”_

The pair sat in silence for a while, simply soaking in each other’s presence. What had been in the past was in the past now, and all that mattered now was that they were both alive and safe.

“ _What of the others?”_ Valhalla asked gently after several minutes and the slight shake of Siavash’s breath had eased. “ _I have not seen anyone but Mother in years. Are they safe as well?”_

Valhalla prayed- to whatever higher or lower spirits and beings if they existed and were listening, that no one else had died in this war, that none of her siblings had suffered as much as she.

“ _Roshanara was in Zulfiqar when the war began,”_ Siavash began with a soft intake of breath, the air warm as it brushed against Valhalla’s neck when she exhaled. “ _She is still there, the last I heard, in asylum, as is Mithra who appeared one day without warning and says nothing as to how he got there. Sohrab is still in Klo, never could bring himself to abandon his plants, but Darya has disappeared. I do not know where she has gone, but you know how Darya is. She is most likely alive and well and causing mayhem wherever she goes. Bahram and Aqila, I was told, were somewhere on the Gotoro front, but I do not know how they fare. Firdaus and Kaveh came to Wespire shortly after I did, but they both left for other lands. I believe Firdaus is in the Calico Desert, and Kaveh went with his bonded ones to Leon. I know little of Mother’s whereabouts.”_

Valhalla could feel herself slump into Siavash, her nose against her hair as tension melted from her shoulders. “ _I am so glad,_ ” she whispered, relief and hope in her heart. It seemed that most of everyone was safe. She was still worried about Darya, Bahram, and Aqila, but out of everyone in her family, Valhalla had the most faith in those three in getting out alive.

“ _Mother is well,”_ Valhalla murmured. “ _She told me to leave the war when she found me. It was… killing me.”_

_“Mother is always right,”_ Siavash replied, a smile curling on her lips. “ _It sounds just like her. But I wish she came with you.”_

_“You know mother. She works in mysterious ways.”_

She could feel Sivash laugh softly, fingers prodding at her ribs to let her go. Valhalla only tightened her hold around her, causing a huff to escape her sister.

“I am so happy to see you here,” Valhalla mumbled, turning back to the language of the land as she pressed a kiss to the top of Siavash’s head.

“You always worried too much,” Siavash prodded Valhalla’s ribs again, and this time she allowed her to be free. “ _And_ you seemed to have adopted someone along the way and gotten yourself a suitor.”

“Virgil is a good boy,” Valhalla protested as Siavash slid down to the bench beside her, smoothing her clothes back to its prim and pristine condition. “He needed someone to care for him. And Gunther is… nice.”

“Just nice?”

Valhalla stuck her tongue out at her, folding her arms over her chest. “Well, I remember someone telling me they weren’t interested in looking for companionship because she already had several children, and that they just happened to be really big and hairy and have eight legs apiece.”

“Rude! This has nothing to do with my spiders!” Siavash smacked Valhalla in the side, causing a laugh to bubble out of her throat as she leaned away from the abuse.

“Fine fine. If you must know, Gunther pursued me, not the other way around.”

“Well _that’s_ a first. You were usually the one to pine after any pretty body that walked by.” Siavash lowered her offending hand, the glint of humor in her eye fading to something more of concern. “But I am worried about your… relationship with this man, Valhalla. There is something… off about him.”

“Off?” Valhalla felt a frown creasing her face, straightening back up as she scanned Siavash’s face for an explanation. “What do you mean?”

Siavash sighed, leaning back against the bench as she turned her eyes out to sea. “It’s the eyes,” she admitted. “Well, the ones he tries to hide behind his glasses. You do realize he has them bewitched?”

“I think I mentioned that to Rasmodius once,” Valhalla admitted. “He’s a wizard,” she amended, when Siavash quirked an eyebrow at her. That only made the look persist. “But he’s very nice. Gunther, I mean. Well, Rasmodius is nice too, but I know both of them mean no harm.”

“You are the one who was trained to hunt monsters,” Siavash began slowly, her tone incredulous. “But you are blind in seeing that what watches you are eyes that do not belong to any person nor human.”

“Are…” Valhalla began, disbelief filling her voice as she slowly rose to her feet. “Are you saying that Gunther is in _disguise?”_

“That is exactly what I am saying,” Siavash stated, her face smooth back to stone as she stared up at her sister, sitting with refined grace on the bench as if emulating their mother. “You know the signs and tells much more than I, but if it took me ten seconds what it is taking you months… either your skills have rusted into dust or you have been bewitched yourself to be blind to the obvious.”

Valhalla opened her mouth, then closed it again, staring back at her sister. She wanted to get angry, to outright deny the accusations, but she knew that Siavash would not tell her any lies to discourage her. She was simply stuck in being stunned, gawking at her own sister as her mind ground to a halt.

“He’s a good person,” she found herself saying, her voice small in her throat. “I _know_ he’s a good person.”

“I am not saying he isn’t good,” Siavash replied, rising up to her feet as well to lay a hand on Valhalla’s arm. “I am simply trying to show you that he isn’t as much as a human as he presents himself.”

“ _We_ _aren’t human either!”_ Valhalla shot back, the anger creeping up through the shellshock as she slid easily back into the language of Klo. “ _We aren’t like these Ferngillians. So what if Gunther is not either? He is a good person, and I am happy to call him a friend! If he hasn’t told me yet, then he has a reason to do so.”_

Siavash let out a sigh through her nose, deep and slow to sooth herself before she let herself continue.

“ _You were always the one who favored even the most dangerous of creatures. Calling them misunderstood,”_ she mused quietly. “ _I just wish not to see that small fleck of happiness in your eyes fade away because he hurt you.”_

_“He won’t,”_ Valhalla stressed with finality, turning to pick up her shirt, still damp against her fingers. Gunther would never hurt her, not in any malicious way. He was far too gentle, and so what if he had his secrets? Even if he _was_ some sort of creature in disguise, Valhalla knew that he never would harm her in a way that her sister was suggesting. If anything, Valhalla was more worried that she would hurt him, with her jumping into action on instinct without thought, her nightmares, the scars on her heart and soul that dragged her down. But Siavash did not know these, even if she speculated.

Valhalla could never let her know how deep the scars on her back ran.

When she turned back, Valhalla found Siavash gazing at her, her expression once more unreadable.

“You have… changed, Jahangir,” she stated softly.

“Yes, well, you try living through a war for years and see how well you fare,” Valhalla muttered, her words slightly bitter as she pulled her shirt back over her head. “I am doing better than I ever had since the war began, Siavash. Let me have my piece of happiness, no matter how brittle it is.”  

Siavash watched her for a moment longer before reaching out, taking Valhalla’s hands and holding them in a quiet sign of support and comfort.

“I meant not for this discussion to turn so sour. I know that you know what you are doing, and that you are far too stubborn for your own good. I trust your judgement, and I wish you luck.” Her expression softened into that of a mischievous look. “And if you ever decide to get bonded, please do not try to hide it like Kaveh. Mother will come after your hide if she missed yet another ceremony and hadn’t been told for three years after the fact.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there,” Valhalla grumbled, although she could feel her face growing warm as she gave Siavash a slight push across the pier back towards the beach.

“I believe not. After all- you spent so long with one-night stands that finding you with such devotion to anyone at all that you haven’t practically marked as your child almost assures my suspicion.”

“If you’re so sure, then you’re not invited!”

“ _How dare-!”_

The short chase ended at the foot of the bridge that led back into town. The skies were being painted with brilliant colors by the sun as it slowly set behind the trees. The Fair was wrapping up, people packing their wares and ready to head home. Valhalla couldn’t help but feel her heart grow heavy as she turned her eyes up to her sister.

“ _You cannot stay.”_ It wasn’t a question, a more of a mere statement they both already knew the answer to.

“ _I will write,”_ Siavash replied. “ _I can even send word to the others that I am in contact with. We will not leave you in the dark again, Jahangir.”_

Valhalla pulled her sister into a hug, crushing her against her chest as she buried her face into her shoulder. “ _If you find word about Bahram… about any of the ones still left behind…”_

_“You will be the first to know, I promise you.”_

Valhalla was reluctant to let go, watching her sister disappear into the remaining crowd of fair-goers and stragglers. She was happy to see Siavash again, relieved to hear about the rest of her siblings, but she couldn’t help the slight gnawing worry that was in her stomach when she turned her thoughts back to the discussion about Gunther, even as her feet traveled back towards the library. She knew that her sister had to be telling the truth, but by how much? Shapeshifting creatures weren’t uncommon back in Klo, but they usually weren’t so convincing or nice. She knew that eyes that golden color that Gunther had wasn’t exactly common, at least she hadn’t seen it present in anyone she had come across anywhere from her homeland to Ferngill, but weren’t they any different from Kloian’s own trademark eyes? Perhaps Gunther was a descendant, or had something in his bloodline- anything could explain it.

And yet, she couldn’t help but think back and wonder…

Gunther wasn’t at the front desk when she entered, but he was within sight, standing on a stepstool to reach the upper shelves as he put away several returned books. He turned at the sound of the door and smiled, stepping off the stool as soon as the last book was put into place.

But Valhalla didn’t hear what he said, instead staring at his face and taking it in, seeing the crease of his brow, the movements of his lips, even the flutter of his eyelashes as she absently reached up and gently slid his glasses off his nose to look at the golden eyes that gazed back at her.

“What’s wrong, Jahangir?”

The words filtered into her ears, causing Valhalla to blink at him. His face was contorted in concern, the eyes glinting slightly in the light above them as she gazed at them.

“…Just thinking,” she murmured slowly, leaning close to rest her forehead against her own, her eyes closing. “My sister gave me much to think on.”

Gunther let out a small breath, his body shifting so that warm fingers stroked over her cheeks.

“I hope it wasn’t any bad news.”

“No, no. Just… a lot to take in.” She opened her eyes again, feeling a smile creep onto her face. “Many of my siblings are alive and well.”

Gunther’s face lit up, a smile of his own causing his eyes to glitter. “That is very good news! I am glad that they are well!”

“There are some still not known, but I trust in their abilities to lead them back home.”

Their conversation was cut short as something heavy hit the floor, followed by a muffled curse from Virgil that quickly cut off before it could be completed.

“Virgil, I told you not to carry that on your own!” Gunther called out with a slight exasperated huff, a reluctant smile towards Valhalla as his hands slid away from her so he could go back towards the display cases on the other end of the library.

Valhalla couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, trailing after Gunther through the bookshelves to find what sort of trouble Virgil had gotten himself into. “He was only trying to help,” she said to the curator, who merely shot her an amused look before turning his eyes to the sullen looking Virgil who stood next to a steel container that was now on the floor after its descent from the shelf it had been resting on.

It didn’t matter, Valhalla decided, smiling in the background as she watched Gunther check up on Virgil to make sure he was all right before gently scolding him for trying to do things on his own without asking for help. It didn’t matter if Gunther wasn’t exactly a normal person. She wasn’t either, and that was okay. He had his reasons for not mentioning it if he was, and she trusted him regardless. Siavash was always the suspicious one, concerned over people using them because of their lineage and family name. But Valhalla knew her heart was in the right place, and Valhalla’s own heart was right where it needed to be.

Everything will work itself out in time, and Valhalla wouldn’t regret it in the least.  


	34. Flu Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The constant change in weather causes many of the townsfolk to get the flu. Gunther picking up the illness himself causes a bit of a problem... one that Valhalla doesn't see as such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for all the support so far! I apologize for the lapse in posting, but a few personal problems have arose in the past two weeks and now I'm trying to get back into writing. This chapter may sound a bit... blah? Not as it should be? I've tried my best. 
> 
> Also a bit of a big chapter- some things are revealed :3 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

With fall creeper ever so closer to its conclusion, the weather couldn’t decide whether it wanted to give up the last dying gasps of summer in favor of the chill of the approaching winter or not. One morning the air would be relatively mild, the next the ground and windows would be coated in a fine layer of frost.

With the unreliable temperatures, in came ushering what Harvey had stated as “The Flu Season”.

Valhalla hadn’t been sure what that meant until one by one the citizens of Pelican Town and beyond began to come down with the sniffles, ragged coughs, fevers, or the combination of all three or more. It apparently was widespread in Stardew Valley in entirety, with Harvey scarce in being the only medical practitioner between the very coastlines of the Valley to Zuzu City. Maru did all she could with what she was allowed to do as Harvey’s assistant in prescribing medication, and it seemed every household had their own assortment of home remedies, but from the way Vincent had snot dribbling down his face with his eyes half closed and glossy in his seat at the library table, it seemed that either did any good for the poor lad.

Penny, it seemed, had a similar thought as she closed the book she had been reading a passage from to the two children.

“I think we will let out early for today,” she told the three of them, causing Valhalla to set down the pencil onto the paper she was supposed to be transcribing Penny’s reading on for practice but instead had been far too busy watching Vincent’s head dip ever so closer to the edge of the table with concern. “Your homework is to get better, Vincent. You too, Jas.”

“But I’m not sick yet!” Jas whined, inching her chair away from the groggy boy who was moving like he had been dead before someone decided to reanimate his corpse.

“You most likely will soon. That’s how colds work,” Valhalla told her gently as a sneeze emitted from somewhere in the bookshelves. Jas looked aghast at the though.

“But- but Aunt Marnie said if I eat my fruits and vegetables that I will be healthy!” Jas exclaimed. “I even drink the orange juice with the gross bits at the bottom!”

“You still get sick- just not as much as everyone else,” Gunther’s voice caused Valhalla’s ears to twitch, the slight scratchy gravelly inflection making her concern shift from Vincent, whom Penny was helping put his coat on as he tried to sniff through his stuffy nose, to Gunther. The man himself was looking a little pale and lacking his usual headwear, but smiled regardless of the dark circles under his eyes as he knelt down to get closer to Jas’ level.

“Your body will be better at fighting off the germs. Sometimes even preventing you from getting ill at all.”

“Oh.” Jas wrinkled her nose in thought. “Do I still have to drink the gross juice?”

“It helps,” Gunther admitted, giving a girl a gentle pat on the head before he pulled himself back up to his full height to let the girl get her things. “And I know your Aunt and Shane would love to keep you healthy and hearty.”

“I suppose.” She didn’t sound particularly happy, but she tugged her coat on all the same as Penny finished packing up Vincent’s things for him since he seemed all ready to fall asleep in the bundle of his coat.

“Are you okay?” Valhalla managed to ask Gunther as they watched Penny take the two children by the hand and head out into the brisk, late fall air, Jas waving goodbye while Vincent made a sound similar to that of a clogged drain.

“I’ve been better,” he replied, his voice more scratchy in the quieter tones, sounding far more like he was trying to swallow down a cough. “Coming down with the same thing as everyone else, most likely.”

Valhalla let herself reach out, her fingers brushing against his forehead and through his hair, her lips curling down in worry.

“You’re rather warm,” she murmured while Gunther learned into her touch with a small sigh. “Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

“I will once I finish putting the last shipment of books away on the shelves,” he promised, seeming reluctant to move away from her touch to look over towards the stack of books on one of the other tables.

“I can help with that!”

Gunther simply smiled and shook his head, knowing far too well than to try to persuade Valhalla otherwise. Her reading had proved enough so that she could be of use without mucking the order up too terribly, and the sooner Gunther went to bed, the better. With that in mind she picked up a stack and ventured into the towers of shelves.

Most of the books had already been properly labeled so that Valhalla knew in a general order of where they went. Genre, then subject, then author. It helped considerably that the shelves had signs that pointed out what was there, and so she made short work of the stack of books she had brought along with her. She did her best, knowing it wouldn’t entirely be perfect, but she would go back and fix it after Gunther was taken care of. That was far more important.

It was strange how quiet and otherworldly a library could be when she was alone in between the towers of shelves and paper. It was soothing, in a way, peaceful and surrounded by knowledge. It was no wonder Virgil always spent his time surrounded by books. But Valhalla knew she would always need interaction with others, craved the attention and giving affection in return. Being left alone with her own thoughts tended to lead to places she didn’t want to think about, even if the darkness of her memories and doubts seemed fainter now than it had when she first set foot into Pelican Town.

Another sneeze breached the silence on the other side of the shelving as Valhalla carefully tucked away the last of the books in her arms, loud and gravelly. Valhalla couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh at the surprise it gave her as she neared around the edge of the shelf.

“You all right-?” Valhalla began as she poked her head around the bookshelf into the next aisle, but the words caught in her throat in surprise as Gunther’s head snapped up from where he had put it down to sneeze into his elbow. His glasses had slid to the very edge of his nose, but it did little to hide a glint of _something_ off the edges of his cheekbones that was starting to creep even further across his skin and making his eyes look far brighter and wildly _serpentine._

One heartbeat was all it was between them where time froze, staring at each other before, suddenly, Gunther was ducking into the next aisle in a frantic bid for escape. It took another heartbeat before slow realization settled in on Valhalla and forced her own feet to move after the librarian, catching just the briefest flit of blue as she rounded the last of the shelves just before he disappeared down the steps towards the apartment below, door rattling as it slammed shut.

Valhalla stood in the middle of the empty study area, staring towards the stairs at a loss. She was in disbelief and shock- never having seen Gunther look so… _panicked._ He was usually so calm and gentle, and yet he had fled like there was fire at his heels, running to hide from _her_ \- and she didn’t even know what on earth she had _seen_.

This had to be what her sister was referring to when they met only two weeks prior. Siavash saw something that she didn’t, a hint of something _wild_ in the man, but she certainly saw something now, paired with the creeping sensation down the back of her neck similar but far too different to belong to that of Rasmodius’ magic now that she took the time to collect herself.

_“He isn’t as much as a human as he presents himself.”_ Siavash’s words settled deep into Valhalla’s heart as she recalled the conversation. She knew that this secret was something Gunther and her would get to eventually, whether or not Siavash was correct in her assessment of him being a full-bodied being or simply through by bloodline. Valhalla wasn’t angry or upset- could never be, as he had a right to his secrets as she did- rather, she was concerned and sad for Gunther’s sake- for why would he feel the need to _run_ from her? Was he that scared of her finding out?

Perhaps it was because he was ill, Valhalla reasoned to herself, taking a quick glance around the library before quietly slipping her feet out of her sandals, carrying them in her hand as she crept her way towards the front door, unusually silent with her bare feet on the smooth hardwood floors. Animals tended to react in different ways when they were sick or injured. So too did beasts of unusual intellect and prowess- the monsters of Klo were especially dangerous when they were weakened by their own health. Perhaps it was the same for Gunther, and the thought only made her worry even more for him.

Leaving her sandals by the front door, Valhalla quietly locked the door so that no one else could come in, hesitating for a moment before she made her approach down the shadowy steps to the door at the bottom. She made sure to put her weight on the one step that creaked, just so that she wouldn’t scare Gunther any further and let him know that he was not alone.

“Gunther?” she called out quietly, her knuckles gentle as they knocked against the door but didn’t try the handle. “Are you… are you okay?”

Her sharp ears picked up the sound of movement in the room beyond, a shuffle of feet and a slightly ragged breath just on the other side of the door. It seemed as though he didn’t get very far, close to the door and listening. It was good enough.

“It’s okay,” she voiced again, her voice soft as she rested her forehead against the wood. “It’s okay, Gunther. I… I’m just worried. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not your fault.” Valhalla hadn’t been prepared for Gunther to reply back, his voice muffled and quiet behind the door, hoarse and _tired_. She could hear him slump against the wall by the door, sliding to sit on the floor. She followed his descent down, crouching low with her head resting against the door. “I… needlessly panicked a little.”

“Was it because your disguise isn’t working well anymore?” Her words carried no spite nor accusation, just gentle understanding and curiosity to a question she already knew the answer to. There was a short laugh that turned into a gravelly cough on the other side of the door.

“I suppose… it was a matter of time before you put the pieces together.”

“Siavash told me for the most part,” Valhalla admitted. “But… I think Rasmodius was trying to hint at something too… I probably missed a lot of hints, to be honest.”

There was silence between them for a moment, accompanied by nothing more than the sound of his congested breathing in her sensitive ears.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Gunther murmured with a clearing of his throat as his voice cracked and clogged. “Meant to… but I never could figure out how to tell you… how you would react to it. Stupid, really. You have the kindest heart I have ever seen, but I let my own fears get the better of me.”

“It happens, Gunther. Neither of us are perfect, and it is all right.” He had done so well in smoothing down her own fears and doubts, that it was now her turn to do the same for him. Valhalla couldn’t bear to hear him so _defeated_ anymore, her fingers reaching up towards the doorknob but not turning it.

“I’m coming in now, okay?”

There was no response from Gunther, but he would have voiced his concern or locked the door if he hadn’t want her to come in. She gave him the chance to as she slowly turned the handle and pushed the door ajar, waited a second, and then pushed it open a little more- enough to see around the doorframe.

Gunther was sitting with his knees curled up to his chest, looking unusually small and worryingly withdrawn, his face hidden in his gloved hands. His glasses were discarded some feet away from him, most likely having fallen from his face.

“Oh Gunther,” she whispered, her heart aching as she moved around the door and into the room, still crouched low as she closed the door behind her. She sunk down to her knees before him, her movements slow as she reached out and gently curled her fingers around his hands. “Let me see?”

She didn’t want to upset him if he did not want her to see him, but his arms went slack in her hands and as gently as she could she pulled his own away from hiding his face, revealing what she had only caught a glimpse of in the library above them.

Scales, shifting color like the nacre of the inside of a shell in a beautiful array of blues, greens, and silvers, lined in neat rows along the features of his face, the exposed skin very pale and damp under her touch as she cupped his cheeks and smoothed her thumbs over the new features. His eyes were more animalistic now than they had before, the pupils shaped as those of a deadly viper and the molten gold burning bright as they gradually lifted to look at her. His face, however, was still contorted in worry, the edges of his lips taut while the rest was parted to let out each breath between dangerously sharp teeth.

Valhalla couldn’t help herself as she inched in closer to press her lips against the corner of his mouth, hoping to sooth the fear and worry away from his features with the gentle understanding of her heart.

“You are very pretty,” she murmured, a hint of a smile creeping in as a huff of a disbelieving laugh tickle her ear, Gunther’s form slumping and relaxing from its previous stiffness of uncertainty. She pressed another kiss against his skin, this time to his temple, the taste of salt on her lips as she tucked him closer to her as her arms wrapped around him and pulled him into her lap as she folded her legs.

“You’re unbelievable,” Gunther mumbled against her neck, his goatee tickling her enough to make her try to cringe away with a growing grin.

“But you are! You have very pretty scales, and even prettier eyes.”

The next huff of a laugh turned into a series of coughs, fingers curling into the back of her shirt, something sharp digging into her skin underneath. She gently patted his back, rubbing circles even as the fabric caught and snagged against what she could only assume were more scales.

“Sorry,” he managed to say once the fit subsided, his voice almost too hoarse to understand. The apology held more weight, reaching for something far more than that of a simple cough. Valhalla simply squeezed him a little closer before loosening her arms.

“Come on,” she murmured softly against his ear. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Gunther didn’t put up a fight as she helped him up, seemingly no longer able to pretend that he was healthier than he actually was. He didn’t even attempt to joke as she helped him out of his coat, draping it over the back of a chair while he kicked off his shoes and all but collapsed onto the bed with a wet-sounding sigh.

Valhalla tugged the blankets out from under him tucking them gently around his form as his chest rose and fell with every shortened breath, her fingers running through his hair while she sat down on the edge of the mattress beside him.

“They call us the _Lautez,_ ” he mumbled softly, burying his face into her side as she brushed back his hair with her fingers, running her nails gently across his scalp. “I… we… are in the same familiar branch as dragons. Serpent-like, mostly aquatic.”

He lifted his head enough to see with one eye, trying to work his glove off by pushing it up off his hand against her leg. Valhalla took the silent plea to carefully pull it up off his fingers, exposing carefully rounded scales and nails that turned into claws. His hands were slightly webbed, she realized, lowering her free hand down to take hold of one of his, running her thumb across the tough, leathery palm, still laced with the pale scars that had been there in his more human form.

Valhalla caught him watching her in the corner of her eye, his own golden gaze half closed but still observant, as if he was perched on the edge of a knife. She smiled at him, fingers curling around his wrist to lift it high enough so she could press her lips against the center of his palm.

“You were the thing I saw in the ocean, weren’t you?” she asked softly, lowering his hand back down. “After the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies. Your true form. You brought my sandals back.”

Gunther made a quiet sound in acknowledgement, a grumbling, sickly purr as his eyes closed and his cheek against her thigh.

“I should’ve told you that night,” he answered, a hint of self-pointed anger in his scratchy words. “I should have called after you when you went to leave, or even after I came to visit you, but…” He let out a frustrated sigh, even as Valhalla stroked her fingers through his hair once more.

“You cannot change what has happened,” Valhalla told him gently, borrowing the words her mother had told her so long ago. “But understand what you can change in what will happen.”

Gunther’s eyes cracked opened again, a faint smile creeping onto his lips, the dim light from the corner of the room glinting off the sharp points of his teeth.

“You are a very smart, lovely woman,” he murmured, which quickly turned into a wet, deep-chested cough.

“Sleep, you silly man,” Valhalla shook her head, petting his cheek as his eyes drooped shut once more. “We can talk later when you’re better.”

And as Gunther dozed off in a haze, Valhalla couldn’t help but smile gently and stroke his hair to ease him into sleep. Everything would work out in due time, and even though this secret was revealed far sooner than either of them had anticipated, but what has happened has happened, and now all they could do now was learn and grow. She didn’t know much from the brief explanation, but she knew for certain that Siavash’s worry was unfounded, as she leaned down to press a kiss to Gunther’s damp hairline, carefully situating him off her lap and onto the bed so she could stand.

He may have been in disguise all this time, but he was still a good and trustworthy man with a good heart. That was all that mattered to her.


	35. Winter Approaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gunther gets better, a snowstorm is on its way, and Valhalla takes a trip to Joja Mart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am so sorry that this story kinda fell into a short hiatus! Finals happened, projects were due, and then I went home where there was little to no internet the entire time I was there. I had written this chapter during that time, but then I decided I didn't like it and scrapped it for this one. 
> 
> I am also currently in a slight writer's slump right now, so I hope this chapter comes out okay!
> 
> In the meantime, thank you for all the support! Please feel free to go to my tumblr which is linked in the previous chapters' (I will link it eventually to this one). There is also a link to my ko-fi page on tumblr as well, if you so wish to support me further! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Winter was creeping in at a rapid pace, icy winds brushing away the last hint of summer and stripping the trees bare.

Pelican Town slowly recovered from their epidemic of flu as the weather finally settled into being simply cold, the children bouncing back and outside laughing regardless of the chill that had taken over and snow threatening the autumn horizon. The older folk were less willing to break out their winter coats and brave the biting breeze, opting to stay inside the warmth of their homes.

Gunther was well enough to open the library again on Spirit’s Eve, the brilliant nacre of his scales and sharp, gentle edges of his claws gone as if they had never existed. His eyes retained a slight narrowing of his pupils, but with his blue-tinted glasses only one who knew what to look for would notice.

Valhalla remained by his side despite his occasional word of her to go back home, but there was no force to it. He had told her little of what he was, a sliver of detail outside of the generic summary, but despite how curious and intrigued she was about it, she did not pry answers out of him.

She had, however, given the ridges along his cheekbones gentle kisses whenever she could, which had caused him to chortle-turned-cough.

“I will show you, come spring,” he had told her one evening, while humoring her in letting her run curious, gentle fingertips over his hand. “Winter is… no friend of mine, and the waters will be warmer by then.”

The promise made her smile all the same, bringing his hand to her lips as she spoke-

“Take all the time you need.”

Valhalla was not afraid of this new discovery- in fact her care for the curator deepened as she remained to tend to him while he spent more of the time sleeping. While she knew how to handle creatures, Gunther was both one and not at all. There were traits, more prominent while he had been ill than there were now, that his more primal instincts fed from, but he had the sentient intellect that drove him into the more dangerous yet fascinating waters of being something in between- not a monster, but not quite a man either. Both, yet neither.

She did not want him to feel that he had to tell her to make her stay, especially since it seemed to be a well-kept, rarely shared secret. His admissions while in the throes of fever had been laced with uncertainty even while she had tried to console him into understanding that it was okay, that it did not bother her. Perhaps there was more to the story of the Lautez than what he was willing to share right now, but that was all right.

“ _Take your time.”_

Valhalla had only left the library twice in the past week, both to go back to the farm to check up on Virgil. Alex had been kind enough to also visit the young man, even spending a night or two when it became too dark to walk back to his grandparents’ place in town. She worried about her small friend, even if she knew he could take care of himself. She couldn’t help it; Virgil brought out a side of her that had been reserved for her youth and her many siblings growing up. Between his habits and health issues and the inferring she could do upon his actions, she didn’t want to leave him alone for long periods of time so far away from everyone else.

The worry was unfounded when the second time she had come across Rasmodius in the kitchen, both the wizard and Virgil talking over yellowing pages in hushed murmurs.

She had left them be and returned back to the library, stopping at The Stardrop to buy some soup that had become free of charge for anyone sick, on the behalf of Gus’ kindness.

Gunther was still slightly lethargic as he let out a sigh, the sound of him jamming his feet almost into the floor heater that was near the front desk made Valhalla choke on a laugh from her place behind the shelves, dusting them off after a week’s worth of disuse.

“I heard that,” came the still slightly-scratchy voice, laced with a smile as Valhalla tried to cover her mouth to keep the rest of the sound from escaping.

“Heard what?” Her own voice was far too innocent for someone who definitely was not laughing, unable to keep her tone even. She could almost hear the eye roll as Gunther’s boots scraped against the heater as he shifted.

“I hate the cold,” he muttered, her sharp ears picking up the comment and causing her to poke her head out from behind the shelf to grin.

“Afraid of a little snow?” she teased, only to laugh as the man sunk into his seat, bundling his coat closer to himself as he grumbled wordlessly into the fabric.

Deciding to give him some reprieve, Valhalla slipped out from behind the shelving and padded over towards him. She leaned forward, arms draping over his shoulders like an elaborate, thick scarf, causing his hat to become askew- even more so as he learned into her warmth with a pleased sigh.

“I am from the tropics. Snow is only a concept we see if the gods are angry with us.”

“It rained in the city I was in last winter,” she replied, pushing Gunther’s hat off his head and onto the floor in order to rest her cheek against his head, much to his lazy grumbling. Her smile faded into concern, turning so her nose was in his hair. “Will you be all right?”

“My joints will hate me, but I’ll be fine,” Gunther murmured back, reaching up with his hand to pat her arm. Even his fingers were a little cold. “Will probably keep my travelling outside this building to a minimum, however. Takes forever to warm my feet back up after sloshing through knee-deep snow drifts.”

“I don’t mind coming by and being used as a heater,” Valhalla grinned into his hair as his shoulders lifted and fell with a humored huff.

“I thought you were going to explore the mines since the growing season is over,” Gunther pointed out, and Valhalla let out a dramatic sigh. In truth that _was_ her plan. Between Abigail’s desire to go inside in spite of Pierre, and Maru’s occasional visit to find minerals, Valhalla’s curiosity had been piqued. Marlon’s residence was also up in that general area, if she so recalled from Abigail’s tales, and she hadn’t seen much of the man since the incident with Agrion. Perhaps she should stop by and pay him a visit, just to catch up.

“I can come by after,” she decided on. “You are still looking for rocks for your collection, yes?”

“The Museum is always accepting donations,” came the diplomatic reply, causing Valhalla to make a huff of a laugh of her own.

“I’ll bring extras,” she whispered conspiringly against the strands, actually laughing as she felt Gunther to instinctively perk up. Seemed like heckling Virgil about dragons so many months ago was finally paying off- first naming Agrion, and now finding Gunther’s guilty pleasure in having things. She hadn’t been too sure, at first, with the briefest understanding that his kind and dragons were related, but not the same, but it seemed that his collecting tendencies were one and the same.

Although, she couldn’t help but wonder- what _did_ he collect? Virgil said that dragons tended to favor particular items, like gold, precious gems, sometimes even things like armor sets or broken crockery. He hadn’t specifically said _why_ they did it, but Valhalla knew of some creatures back in Klo that used to gather things to impress potential mates. Perhaps it was something similar for dragons and other related species?

That was a question for another day as the door opened and the early winter wind swept in and stealing away the warmth with greedy, icy claws. It made Gunther shudder, unnoticed by Lewis who was quick to shut the door behind him regardless, a scarf wound around his neck.

“Good morning!” Valhalla beamed, half tempted to straighten up if Gunther hadn’t trapped her close with his hands curling around her wrists and keeping her there. So instead she turned her head sideways, cheek resting on top of Gunther’s head as she beamed at Lewis who gave them both an amused twinkling look.

“I see you two are finding ways in keeping warm,” Lewis said, his mustache twitching with a smile as Valhalla’s beam turned into a wolfish grin while Gunther let go of one of her wrists to hide his face in his hand, although his shoulders were trembling under her with suppressed mirth.

“Must make sure Gunther doesn’t fall ill again,” was Valhalla’s response to that, although her words inflected far more than innocent caretaking.

“What can we do for you, Mayor?” Gunther sighed, trying not to fall to the bait that was Valhalla. It made Lewis’ chuckle even as he took his hat off his head.

“I’m afraid it is some bad news,” he told them, his smile falling. “There’s a winter weather warning for this evening. Heavy snow and wind for the next two days. The Spirits’ Eve festival has been cancelled in anticipation for this.

“Snow?” Valhalla perked up, instantly catching on that single phrase as Gunther muttered “well that doesn’t sound good”.

“Winter decided it wants to come early,” Lewis continued on with a sigh. “Both Pierre’s and JojaMart have decided to run sales so that everyone can stock up. I’d suggest you get there before half the Valley turns up.”

“Shopping,” Gunther grumbled, and Valhalla couldn’t help but grin as he sunk against her, looking very put out about it.

“I can go for you,” she offered, smoothing back the hair she had messed up with a hand that she hesitated on before he gave her the subtle nod to continue. “Drop them off before I go back home. Need to bring Agrion in and make sure there is enough wood for the fire.”

Between Valhalla’s need to return home and Gunther’s reluctance to leave the warmth of the library, the man agreed without much protest, giving her a small wave of goodbye as she followed Lewis out the door and into the chilly air.

“Looking at you makes me cold,” Lewis couldn’t help but comment, giving Valhalla’s bare arms a look over. She grinned.

“Klo gets cold at night as well. Just not as wet.” It would be enough for her to tolerate long enough to return home, but she was certain she would have to go and rummage through the closet and find that coat Emily was kind enough to make for her. How she figured out her size was beyond her, but Valhalla was grateful nevertheless.

They parted ways at Lewis’ home, leaving Valhalla to continue on. A quick glance into Pierre’s told her that he was almost cleared out, the shelves stripped bare and Pierre looking ragged, a _Closed_ sign on the door. With his smaller stock, it was no wonder he was out of goods so soon. She offered him a wave and a small smile before forcing her feet to continue on across the bridge and towards the Joja Mart.

She had never been inside the store, the colors were a bit jarring to her eyes, but she had never seen it quite so... busy. Truth was, the place was an absolute zoo, the parking lot full of cars. It seemed that Lewis’ warning came a little late, and Valhalla could feel anxiousness creep into her heart as she followed a mother with her two kids into the store, not even looking where she was going and expecting everyone to get out of her way.

Being one of the only stores between here and Zuzu City, it was in total chaos. Valhalla could feel herself grow self-conscious about herself and worry gnawing at her as unfamiliar people bustled by. Absently she managed to grab a basket, but despite her size could not get herself to push through the crowd and more like the crowd forced her to move in its own wild flow.

There wasn’t exactly much in stock anymore either, that or the shelves were in entire disarray. She spotted Shane over everyone’s heads, the man deciding quite certainly to stay out of the way and against the wall near a set of doors, arms crossed and giving a glare to anyone who dared try to approach him demanding answers.

Sam and a girl she did not know were running the registers, looking worse for wear and dead on their feet- or at least the girl was. Sam was still smiling, although it was strained at the edges of his usually jubilant face.

Valhalla lost sight of them as she found herself being pulled along into the aisles, reaching out and occasionally grabbing things off the top shelf that caught her eye or thought Gunther would like. Proteins also became a big thing, as she quickly snatched up whatever she could get her hands on in a blind bid between other grasping fingers.

She could feel her nerves starting to become too much for her, the number of people and the noise making her ears ache. This was far worse than the Luau or the Fair, such a small, cramped space with people she did not know.

Someone dropped a can onto the floor, the metallic clank sounding far too much like the metal and steel of the warfront, with thousands of feet scurrying to escape. She couldn’t rightly decipher if the voices she was hearing were the shoppers or the shouting of soldiers on either side, the child screaming from its place in a nearby cart a harrowing echo of a newfound orphan lost in the smoldering wasteland.

Without realizing it, Valhalla’s feet carried her past Shane and through the swinging double doors that led into a cooler, quieter place. The floors here were concrete, the steel beams of the ceiling exposed along with wires and pipes. Whatever nice features were done in the store proper ended at the threshold to the stock room, where boxes and pallets resided awaiting to be open and put up.

Granted there was very little in the back now, but it was enough for Valhalla to sink on the cool cement and cover her ears in hope that her own heartbeat would drown out the sound of memories that snapped at her heels. It had been so _long_ since she had such a lapse, and yet here she was, trying to remember how to breathe to chase away the memories that threatened to spill out from over the flood gates.

By the time Valhalla had managed to stomp her memories back into the dark recesses of her mind, she found herself no longer alone in the stockroom.

“Only employees are supposed to be back here,” Morris said as she slowly let her hands slack from her ears, his arms folded over his chest. But his words weren’t clipped or bossy, instead looking far too much like he was trying to keep his face from expressing his thoughts.

“Sorry.” It was the only thing she could get herself to say, voice thick and quiet as she let her hands drop fully, turning her eyes away. She made a silent, vague gesture towards the door, the din on the other side pricking at her ears despite it being muffled by concrete walls and closed doors.

It seemed to be enough for Morris to understand, that or he already knew enough without her saying so. It made Valhalla realize that she didn’t really _know_ the man, outside of their initial meeting and occasional wave she gave him while she saw him overseeing the shipments.

The lack of soul-stealing-promising smile made him seem a bit more human… perhaps he wasn’t quite the _sepavir_ she first thought of him.

That or he was doing a better job hiding it. It was hard to tell, with _sepavirs_.

Still the man stared down at her for several silent seconds, observing her without much of a twitch to give away what he was thinking before he let out a sigh, arms unfolding to fix his suit with a simple tug at the hem.

“Are you better?” he inquired, causing Valhalla to blink at the odd inflection of mild _concern_ in his voice. It was there, abet very faintly.

“A little,” she admitted after a moment, slowly picking herself up off the floor. Surprisingly, her little basket of sequestered goods were all in place, although now that she was looking at it, she had to wonder what she was going to do with both spicy mayonnaise _and_ a box that exclaimed its contents to be corn dogs… she didn’t think those two words were meant to go together, especially when it didn’t particularly look like corn _or_ dogs.

Ferngillian was _strange_.

 “If you are feeling better,” Morris’ voice drew Valhalla out from her internal perplexity. “Let me walk you to the register.”

There was no room for argument there, but Valhalla couldn’t help but smile in relief as the man opened the double doors back to the shop floor. If he was bothered by her instantly getting so close to him that they were brushing in order to avoid being sucked back into the wild flow of frantic customers, he didn’t show it, his face firmly fixed into a serious, businesslike expression. Despite how unknown Morris was, he was someone she recognized, becoming a pillar in the wild sea of strangers. Shane had disappeared off to the registers as well, face stuck in a sour expression as he rang up a nervous looking man, and the girl was suspiciously absent.

“I don’t want to see you in my stockroom again,” Morris told Valhalla, his words low as she stepped into the long line for the registers.

“I hope I don’t ever need to,” she replied back, and, on the spur of the moment, reach out and clasped a hand onto his shoulder and squeezing it slightly. “Thank you.”

Morris, the poor man, didn’t seem to know what to do once she let go, staring at her for one, long, bewildered moment before clearing his throat and turning to walk away.

His ears were slightly pink, though, the thought causing Valhalla to smile to herself even as she bounced slightly where she stood, eager to escape this hellish store as soon as she could. Perhaps Morris was a good man after all- even if he lacked a soul. He was simply lost, and that was okay.

Outside, the faintest flecks of snow began to drift down.  


	36. Snows of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck inside due to the snow, Valhalla has a surprise visitor. They have a small heart-to-heart talk regarding the other's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! I hope this one turns out okay because I wrote it when I was supposed to be sleeping, but yet here I am. Still trying to get back into the scheme of things, so hopefully the weirdness in my writing will smooth out over time.
> 
> Doing some character building for one of the locals again! I hope you like it c: 
> 
> If you have any questions or requests, feel free to talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/) There is also a link to my ko-fi page there as well if you'd like to support me in other ways!
> 
> Enjoy!

 Valhalla had never seen so much snow in her life before.

Granted, she _had_ seen snow, mostly-melted piles of dirty slush on the sides of the road while she had been walking to the Valley in the spring, but she had never seen snow fall from the sky, nor had she been witness to the blinding blur of white as the wind howled and rattled the doors and windows, threatening to creep under the front door if she had not blotted it up with some towels.

It was hard to determine when it was day and what isn’t, the only source of understanding was the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle as the hand slowly gravitated around. The fire did little to dispel the chill that seeped into the old house, and both Virgil and Valhalla had found themselves moving blankets and mattresses before the hearth- Virgil with his books and Valhalla with… well… nothing.

She spent most of the time trying to keep herself from going too stir-crazy, reorganizing the kitchen or counting the preserve jars in storage. A small breath of icy air as she opened the back door to let Agrion in and out was the closest she got to being outside, the large Terror bringing in wet snow in his wake before deciding to sleep the next hours away flopped on the floor and being used by Virgil as a breathing pillow once he had dried his fur.

The snow came and came and piled higher and higher onto the front porch. One day was threatening to turn into two as Valhalla sank onto the pile of blankets by the fire, leaning against the couch as stew slowly cooked away in a pot over in a change of pace instead of using the kitchen. Virgil was dozing against an already sleeping Agrion, a book threatening to slip from his lap.

Valhalla couldn’t help but smile a little, leaning over to pluck the book from its precarious situation, bringing it close to smooth her fingers over the fragile pages. There were dozens of strange symbols and patterns over the paper, small, handwritten notes in the margins and corrections on the images themselves. It was not Virgil’s own handwriting, far too scratchy to be the gentle loops that Valhalla was familiar with.

She tipped the book over to look at the cover, the pages cascading over and exposing a rippling blur of printed text and unfamiliar handwriting. The cover said nothing, only a circle of unfamiliar symbols etched in faded gold on the dark, hard cover. Just on the inside of the cover, however, posed a more intriguing thought, where yet another unfamiliar handwriting was neatly curled in large print on the blank first page:

_To Mercutio_

_With love-_

The rest was scribbled out in dark, blotchy ink, even seeping into the next two pages. It made Valhalla furrow her brow in thought. She was pretty sure this was a book Rasmodius lent to Virgil- it _was_ a magical book, no doubt about that- but who was _Mercutio_? She had trouble trying to sound it out, her lips moving gently as she struggled to figure out the proper roll of the tongue. _Mur-CUT-io? Meer-cute-tIO?_

A familiar prickle racing up the back of her neck made her pull her eyes away from the book, Agrion’s ears twitching before his red eyes cracking open and looking over towards the kitchen just as Rasmodius appeared in a flurry of snow and rippling cloak.

Immediately two Junimos popped out from under his hat, jumped down to the floor, and immediately bounced over to half-bury themselves into Agrion’s thick fur. The wolf snorted at Utu and Kiraz before closing his eyes again, although his ears followed the wizard as Valhalla waved him over.

“Brought some guests, I see,” she smiled at him, her eyes moving over to the two Junimos who were making themselves comfortable with the shared warmth between Agrion and Virgil.

“The elementals are not pleased,” Rasmodius said cryptically, as he draped his cloak over a chair to dry off, pausing for just a brief moment before settling down on the couch after Valhalla patted the cushion in invitation. “My home is currently… uninhabitable.”

“Well, we have spare space and extra stew to be eaten.” Valhalla pushed herself up as she spoke, sitting on the couch beside the wizard, book closed in her lap. “I’m sure Virgil will be happy to have someone to talk _nerdy_ things to once he awakes.”

“’Nerdy things’?” There was a slight twitch of his mustache as a smile threatened to creep into the corners of Rasmodius’ mouth. “And where did you learn such a phrase?”

“Abigail.”

A low chuckle escaped him, shaking his head while lifting a hand to take off his hat. “I should have known.”

They fell into peaceful silence for several minutes, the only sounds being the crackling fire, the soft ticking of the clock, and the whistle of the wind in the windows. Virgil had fallen asleep completely by this point, his arms curled around Agrion with the two nature spirits nestled between his head and his arms. They, too, were starting to doze off, with an additional three more joining in at some point.

Perhaps even nature spirits did not like the cold.

Valhalla’s fingers stroked over the cover of the book in her lap, a frown forming on her face.

“Who is Mercutio?” she asked, and she felt Rasmodius jolt, the action causing her gaze to turn to him as he stared back at her.

“Where did you hear that?” His words were low, quiet and serious. His brows were pinched almost… _angrily_ , a guarded secret he was ready to protect.

Valhalla blinked at him before opening the cover, turning it over for him to look upon the handwriting on the inside.

His face was hard for several seconds, eyes staring down at the page before he turned his gaze away, as if looking upon it hurt. His expression turned into a shadowed one, looking as if he aged about fifteen years in two seconds as he closed his eyes and let out a deep, long sigh.

“I am.”

The short confession caused Valhalla to blink yet again, confusion pulling at her features.

“I thought your name was Rasmodius?”

Rasmodius gave her a look, one eyebrow raised.

“Mercutio is my first name. Mercutio Rasmodius.”

Valhalla stared at him for a little bit, uncertain of what to make of this new information. Her eyes slowly turned downward back towards the book in her lab, frowning in thought as she traced over the unfamiliar writing.

“It makes you sad,” she murmured softly. “Your name. Someone made you sad over your own name.”

And that hurt her heart as much as it did his, splaying her hand across the page to cover up the splotched ink. To give up using one’s own name, not for protection and safety but because of shame and sorrow, it was a thought that made her heart ache for Rasmodius- not of pity but something far more pure and heartfelt that was rooted deep in her being.

Her hands left the book, reaching over to curl her fingers around his own. His fingers were cold, calloused from numerous years of wear. She captured his hand between both her own, letting the warmth seep into his skin with silent support.

Rasmodius was quiet for some time, and Valhalla was certain he would not speak more of it. But then he closed his eyes, sinking back into the couch as his lips parted.

“My wife…used to call me such.” His words came out quiet, hoarse and tired, the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes more prominent in the flickering light of the fire. Valhalla didn’t even know he _had_ a wife- didn’t think anyone else knew either- but the way he voiced it made the term past tense.

Her hand gripped his a little tighter.

“She went deep into Dark Magic. Consumed by it. Hid my daughter from me when I tried to make her stop and made me forget what she looked like, her name, just to get back at me. Cursed plants and animals and tormented the townsfolk in secret. And then she started to bring things into the house that were never meant to be in this dimension, turning our food into things that would leave me sick for days at a time and _laughed_ about it _._ It was corrupting her appearance, her very essence, I… tried to help, but she wouldn’t listen, and so I had to tell her we were through. She… didn’t take it well. Flew off in a rage. I am still trying to mend the damage she has wrought, but…”

 He trailed off at the end, swallowing thickly and losing his nerve to continue.

“She hurt you,” Valhalla whispered, smoothing her thumbs gently over the back of his hand, tracing over the few rings he wore. “She hurt you because she wanted you to suffer, to hurt. So much so that you can't even bear to hear your own name.” She brought her eyes up, her eyes an eerie reflection of purple in the shadows of the firelight as she looked directly at Rasmodius.

“She never deserved you.”

It was blunt, perhaps too blunt as Rasmodius nearly jerked away, only held on as Valhalla gripped his hand tightly, keeping him firmly in place as she continued to speak. “Magic such as this… it reaches into the depths of one’s heart. To change and corrupt, one must have a darkness inside. A thought, a past action, one that they did not feel guilty of. I have seen good men succumb to madness because they craved for power, for wealth, for a simple chance of recognition without the work, tempted by the easy way out. They are destroyed by these simple _thoughts_ of what they could be, what they could become and have. For your wife to take away your _daughter_? Poison you? This magic only plants the seed. It is the _heart_ that decides whether to let it grow.”

She eased a single hand from his wrist, reaching out to rest a finger against his chest, just above his beating heart as she continued to gaze at him with such seriousness that it kept him frozen in place and staring back at her with widened eyes.

“I know nothing of your wife outside what you say. I may be overstepping myself, but an honest woman does not hurt the ones she loves with all her heart and soul, and no amount of magic could change that.”

With that, Valhalla removed her hands from the man, Rasmodius stock still in place while she slid off the couch to give the wizard some space and check on her stew in the hearth. Magic was a strange thing to her here in Ferngill, but she knew the old artifacts and ancient curses that were spotted across Klo. She had seen men kill themselves trying to take an artifact that could promise them riches and fame, stability in their lives, or the power to rule and dominate over their enemies. It peers into their hearts and uses their weaknesses, dragging out the darkest aspects of their souls to blacken them in entirety, and they succumb to it, weakness in heart and mind to fight what they secretly crave.

But she spoke out of turn, perhaps, as she stirred the stew with a bit more force than necessary. She knew nothing about the woman, other than what he told her. Perhaps she had been kind to him before succumbing to the ill effects of the darkest temptations. Perhaps she had loved him. But it was not just the magic that could turn a person so- Valhalla knew that it was also the person themselves who let themselves become the victims, because it promised them something that was the easiest way out.

It was much like the ones who try to raise the dead, so stricken with grief and sorrow or trying to tap into forgotten secrets of the deceased that it was a crime so severely punished in her homeland that none dare to speak of even the act of such a thing. The dead should remain at rest, and signs of anything speaking otherwise was a bad omen indeed.

If such deeds were what this Dark Magic was to the Ferngillians, then Valhalla wished not to speak of it again. Perhaps even Rasmodius speaking of it would cause ill will towards him. It made her suppress a shiver as she pulled the pot away from the flames, rising up from her position before the hearth and stepping carefully over Agrion and Virgil to grab some bowls.

“ _Speak of Darkness, and Darkness Shall Come Knocking,”_ Valhalla murmured in her native tongue, stepping back over the prone forms on the floor and kneeling down before the fireplace. “ _Shall We Remain Ever Vigilant with Lips Sealed and Persevere.”_

It was an old saying, a near prayer if they so had deities to worship. It was to chase away the evils that could come with the Unknown, to protect themselves against the uncertain wiles of unfamiliar magics and beasts that could lure them astray. To talk about it was to welcome it in, and that was something Valhalla did not need in her household, and something that Rasmodius did not need to face yet again.

Wordlessly she offered a bowl out to the wizard, who took the warm ceramic with careful hands, although his lips were still pinched and brows furrowed in serious thought as he remained quiet after her small outburst. She made a small bowl for the Junimos of which she set on the stones before the hearth so they could have some whenever they felt like it- or for when Agrion decided to get up and investigate. She didn’t disturb Virgil, knowing that he could use all the sleep he could get.

With her own bowl, Valhalla hesitantly sat back down onto the couch, leaving some space between herself and Rasmodius just to give him the space he needed. He remained staring into his own bowl as if it held all the answers, shoulders hunched a little.

“Perhaps… you are right,” he said softly, causing Valhalla to swallow a mouthful of stew hard to clear her throat. “I have been too wrapped up in my own grief that I did not see clearly.”

“You have a right to mourn what you have lost,” she replied, setting the spoon back into her bowl. “She had loved you, perhaps, for a time, but in the end, her love for other things outshone her concern for you.”

She paused for just a moment before slowly sliding down the couch to be beside Rasmodius, resting the bowl on her thigh and balanced with one hand as she placed the other onto his arm, fingers loose and gentle. “The shadows will always be behind you, but as long as you look towards the sun, you shall not dwell within them.”

“That sounds like wisdom of another,” Rasmodius murmured, lifting his eyes from his stew to glance over at her, his face softening a little. “Your mother?”

“No. My father. My mother’s recipe, though. ”

A low chuckle escaped the wizard’s throat, causing her ears to twitch a little at the sound, a hint of a smile creeping onto her face. The man was no longer looking as haunted as he did before, and that was enough as he reached for his own spoon for the first time and took a small taste.

“It’s… warming,” he settled on after a moment of simply staring at the soup, trying to mull over the flavors. It made Valhalla grin, giving his arm a pat before going for her own stew once more.

“Perfect for long cold nights in the desert,” she replied. “Didn’t think dogs of corn that do not look like dogs nor corn would cut it for such a cold eve.”

Rasmodius choked on his helping of stew, the coughing stirring Virgil from his sleep as Valhalla thumped the wizard on the back.

“’Dogs of corn’?” he croaked out, while Virgil blinked blearily up at them.

“It’s in the freezer,” Valhalla said simply, leaning over to offer her bowl to Virgil which caused Agrion’s ears to flick and his head to raise, now that Virgil was shifting and awake enough to take the offered dish with a murmur of thanks. The movement awoken the Junimos, who were quick to warble and scuttle across the floor towards the bowl by the hearth, while Agrion tried to not-so-subtly stick his nose into Virgil’s bowl.

“Go get your own,” he mumbled tiredly, pushing Agrion’s muzzle while turning his body away to put his shoulder between the Timber Terror and his food.

It made Valhalla laugh, helping herself to another bowl as Rasmodius peered across the living room towards the kitchen as if he could see through the freezer door and figure out what exactly she meant by ‘dogs of corn’.

“Oh… hello Rasmodius, sir,” Virgil said once he woke up enough after chewing through a few bites of meat to realize the wizard was there, his protective stance of the bowl loosening to the point where Agrion’s head immediately shoved its way under his arm and slobbered all over the inside of the bowl before he had a chance to push him away. Virgil quickly relented the bowl over to the wolf by setting it onto the hardwood floors, leaving Agrion to his prize.

“He calls you ‘sir’?” Valhalla mock-whispered, her lips pulling into a smile. “And here I was thinking of calling you Rasmo long term.”

“It’s Rasmodius,” the wizard stressed, giving her a dark sideways look that caused her to smile even more.

“Okay Rasmo, _sir_.” She practically purred out the last word in a unvoiced suggestion that took a moment of processing before Rasmodius’ cheeks dusted a soft pink as he scowled at her.

“Oh _gods_ ,” Virgil whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears a brilliant red. “I am so _sorry_.”

Valhalla couldn’t help but start cackling, even more so when Rasmodius decided to shove her away from him and causing her to fall to the floor onto the blankets with a hysterical wheeze.

Outside the snow continued to drift down.

 


	37. Feast of the Winter Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is unkind to Stardew Valley, but it relents enough for the Feast of the Winter Star. Valhalla receives an unexpected gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am sorry for the long delay, but here I am!
> 
> I am happy (or unhappily, depending) to announce that this IS the last chapter for this story! I have decided to at least wrap up the first year so I can claim I have at least finished one long fic without leaving it as an eternal WIP. I haven't decided if I wish to continue this on a second piece for the second year, but for now, at least this story will be concluded!
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who has been with me for this wild ride. I hope that you still enjoy the work through its ups and downs, and it is all thanks to you that I was given the motivation to continue this story for this long! 
> 
> If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me on my [tumblr!](http://regalmisfortune.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy!

Winter came with a vengeance upon the Valley, bringing snow and wind with little reprieve.

“It’s the worst winter in over sixty years,” Lewis had told Valhalla from behind the scarf wrapped around his face, taking a breather as Valhalla attempted to shovel the snow off the cobblestone streets with many of the other villagers.

Winters, as it turned out, were typically mild- with some snow or freezing rain that stuck around until spring. Heavy snowfall wasn’t common, perhaps one or two relevant snowstorms a season. This year became such an oddity, where the snow was already piling up past Valhalla’s knees in the areas that hadn’t drifted even higher. The single snowplow that Lewis had for his truck broke during the first cleanup, and most of the small villages dotted across the Valley didn’t even have that much.

Zuzu City occasionally sent a snowplow down their way, but only to clear the major road. The tiny towns and villages were left to fend for themselves until- surprisingly- a familiar blue of the Joja Mart logo came with some equipment of their own and assisted clearing out the much smaller side roads and village entrances, all the way up to the Joja Mart in Pelican Town.

If Morris put the call in, he didn’t say so, stating something about the snow being detrimental to the freight and overall “bad for business”. Valhalla had kissed his forehead all the same in a spur-of-the-moment before she skipped off to hunt down for some foodstuff while the store was mostly empty, leaving the manager bewildered and flustered, much to her enjoyment.

Pierre had all but ran out of supplies days ago, going through the last of his locally-sourced stock. He seemed a bit disheartened at the lack of profit he would make until spring when the roads were clear, but Caroline had smiled when Valhalla asked and said that they were spending a lot of time as a family now. Abigail seemed to be in a better mood along with her mother, and it seemed that some of the familiar problems within their household was slowly being ironed out now that Caroline had the excuse to sit her silly husband down and have him interact with the family instead of fretting over profit margins and sales tax.

The entire town had buckled down for the long haul when the days turned into weeks and more snow clouds drifted across the horizon. They saw very little sun, the sky drab and grey, and the cold was starting to break pipes in some of the older houses. Alex had asked Valhalla before asking Virgil if the young man didn’t mind staying at his place until the worst of the weather was over the same day that both Lewis and Clint risked the trip to the small house and all but told Valhalla that, under no circumstance, should they remain so far away from the village.

Valhalla told them they were being silly, but let them drain the pipes and seal up the windows before she and Virgil packed up their belongings and made the trek back to town. Alex had been more than happy to accept Agrion as well, and after the initial sniffing and posturing between the massive wolf and the gridball player’s dog, Dusty, the two canines seemed more than content in sleeping practically on top of each other for warmth and getting into growly arguments over leftover steak bones.

Others, too, seemed to have come to hunker down in the relative safety of the town. Linus had been bashful of the idea but Gus was determined to get the wild man off the mountain that had become dangerous with sudden avalanches and even more snowfall than the town below into the Stardrop. Robin and her family were a bit more stubborn, Demetrius more so than Robin, but in the end their family booked in with Jodi and her two children. Willy, Elliot and an older man who came down the mountain with Marlon stayed with Lewis in his massive yet empty home while the sea itself was so rough that it was threatening to collapse the dock and flood the beach while Marlon himself had seemingly snuck off to assist Marnie at her ranch.

“Someone needs to help her feed the cows,” he had muttered to Valhalla when she had helped carry some extra foodstuff over to the ranch, Shane letting out a loud snort in the background that it scared some of the chickens into roosting in the hayloft.

“He’s just being a good friend,” Marnie had scolded her nephew while climbing up the ladder to fetch the chickens. Marlon simply shuffled his feet uncomfortably, and Valhalla decided that was something that needed to be worked out on their own time and tactfully made a retreat back outside into the cold weather.

The only two people who lived outside of town who didn’t temporarily moved elsewhere were Leah and Rasmodius, Leah because she lived close enough to town that it wasn’t too difficult even with the snow, and Rasmodius was a wizard who could teleport anywhere he pleased- once the Elementals stopped filling his tower with snow.

Valhalla herself had taken refuge with Gunther, who was more than happy to have company, one who didn’t mind him attempting to steal all her body heat.

“I hate winter,” the curator had grumbled one evening for the hundredth time, and Valhalla huffed out a laugh and wrapped her arms around his waist and preventing him from going anywhere for the rest of the night. Not that he complained one bit.

Valhalla both liked and disliked the winter. The piles of drifting snow reminded her of the sands back home, only cold and wet instead of hot and dry. It was more malleable, but also heavier when she had to climb up with Clint to help shovel the snow off many of the houses’ roofs to prevent the entire thing collapsing in under the weight, and the children made so many snowmen that the town’s population seemed to have doubled in size overnight.

Yet the cold was biting, the extra layers constricted her and made her feel hot, and the lack of sun was starting to wear her down. On the rare days that the sun managed to peek through the drifting clouds she could be found sprawled in front of the window, soaking in the weak rays.

“You are much like a cat,” Gunther chuckled quietly the first day, but had draped a blanket over her regardless to help pick up as much of the sun’s warmth as possible. He had joined her almost fifteen minutes later, the pair of them sheltering by the window to take in whatever sunlight they could before it disappeared on them for the next week or so.

Valhalla missed the sun, the lack of it causing her to feel a bit down. Harvey said it was natural for the seasons to affect people as such, but it was getting to the point where she didn’t really want to get out of bed in the morning. That alone was enough for her to grudgingly force herself to get up anyway and put herself to work shoveling snow and being in contact with other people, even if it was just her leaning over Abigail’s shoulders so much the smaller woman collapsed under the weight into the snow with a spluttering curse that would have Sam and Sebastian laughing and a snow fight commence.

Another festival was missed during the constant storms. Apparently there was a day where everyone went out and made something called igloos and ice fished and simply had a nice time, but with the weather being so terrible, Lewis said that everyone were probably already sick of shoveling and didn’t need to be outside more than necessary. There was always next year, he added, although he did hope that the Feast of the Winter Star would be clear enough for everyone to join in.

“What is the Winter Star?” Valhalla asked Gunther that evening as she filled up some cups for spiced cocoa and gently trying to keep Utu from climbing into it. The Junimo seemed to have followed her from the farmhouse to Gunther’s home, and the disguised _Lautez_ didn’t seem to mind once the small spirit got enough courage to show its face to him- or rather, accidentally knocking a box of cereal out of the cupboard one morning and startling the man into nearly breaking a bowl. They worked out their differences and the two beings got along well enough as Gunther observed the spirit with curious intrigue.

“There’s a star that is only visible at this time of year- and only visible in the Valley,” Gunther explained with a soft murmur of thanks as she passed him a mug, fingers curling around the ceramic to seep off its warmth, watching Utu toddle off to the other end of the table to crinkle a magazine under its tiny feet. “Long ago people believed that if you laid eyes upon it, it would bring you good fortune for the coming year. Willy tells the story better than I, but that is the basics of it. Recent times it is a festival to celebrate good family and the coming end of the year, and traditionally people give gifts. I believe the town does a secret gifting, where you pick a present for just one person. I don’t know how it will work this year, considering how terrible the weather is that is preventing many to travel to go shopping.”

“Do we just have to give one person a present? What if there’s an odd number of people?”

Gunther let out a small chuckle at the burst of questions, reaching out to pat a slightly-clawed hand on her own, his skin cool despite holding the hot mug.

“You can still give presents to everyone. And I am sure Lewis has it all figured out. You know how he is.”

Indeed, Lewis had it all figured out as winter crept ever so onward, the piles of snow getting higher and higher and the river frozen over. Letters in everyone’s mailbox appeared a week in advanced of the festival while everyone took the gaps between snowfalls to decorate their homes with strings of light and colorful baubles, with the information etched out across the pages. The party will be held in Pierre’s community room, and there was a secret gifting.

“Who did you get?” Valhalla asked as she tried to peer over Gunther’s shoulder, causing him to press the letter to his chest with a mock glare.

“It’s called “secret” for a reason,” he stated, although he couldn’t hide the twitch of a smile that was threatening to appear on his face. Valhalla simply grinned in response as she went back to slowly dissecting her letter again.

In truth, it would be both their first Feast of the Winter Star in Pelican Town. Neither were sure what to expect, but as Gunther said, at least the food would be good, as Gus would be providing. She wondered if Virgil would be attending as well, and then quickly admitted that he probably wouldn’t be able to say no. He would most likely end up leaving early, but at least he would make the effort to attend- especially when he was making friends with those who were close to the same age bracket as he.

She hummed lowly in her throat, puzzling over her letter as she carefully refolded it. She still had to think of something to give to her secret person, but what was she going to give…?

It took her about five minutes to consider her choices before making the trip back to the farmhouse.

The week by in a flutter of activity. The snow seemed to have let up just for them- long enough for everyone to get ready for the Feast. Food was being cooked up, the every sign and light pole was decorated in festive cheer, and the community room was set with food, lights, and a massive pine tree that was decorated with color and tiny star-shaped baubles that glinted in the light.

Valhalla had never seen such a spectacle before, the room slightly cramped with everyone inside already but comfortable in the way only close friends and family could provide. It made her heart ache a little, watching Vincent and Jas duck under the tables as they giggled while Jodi was talking to Caroline.

A brush of fingers over her arm made her crash back into the present, eyes flitting over to Gunther as he smiled softly.

“Let’s find a place to sit,” he murmured, gesturing with a slight tip of his head towards a table in the corner that Virgil as already occupying, looking into his cup of punch as if it held the answers to all his questions while Evelyn sat next to him, gently patting his knee and George in his wheelchair watching the others around him with less of a grumpy scowl on his face than usual.

Valhalla took the chance with a quick smile, slipping past Gunther to approach the table as he took the time to hang up his hat and coat. Valhalla had decided to forgo them entirely, claiming it wasn’t that far of a walk and Gunther couldn’t convince her otherwise. She was tired of her arms being trapped and her shoulders feeling too tight- one day without a coat wasn’t going to hurt anything.

 Virgil saw her approach first, eyes lifting and giving her a weak smile.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked instead as she plopped down beside him.

“I don’t know- you tell me,” she said with a crooked grin, sticking her fingers down the back of his neck and causing him to nearly spill his punch at the knee-jerk reaction. Evelyn let out a cracky little laugh, shaking her head at the pair of them.

“Ah, to be young again.”

“You’re plenty young, Granny,” Valhalla complimented, leaning over to kiss the older woman on the cheek in greeting, causing her to chuckle again and pat her cheek in return.

“You are such a charmer,” she smiled before reaching into a small bag of her knitting by her chair. “And I have a gift for you, my dear.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to-“ Valhalla began, her words cut off as a soft package wrapped in colorful paper full of snowmen was pressed into her hands.

“Everyone gets a present from Granny,” she replied, gesturing for her to open it, which Valhalla couldn’t say no to as she carefully peeled the tape and paper back to expose a scarf made of dark purple and teal yarn.

“It’s so pretty,” she whispered, awed as she lifted it out of the package. “Thank you.”

“Your young friend here picked out the colors for you,” Evelyn told her, and Valhalla was quick to stoop low and press a kiss to Virgil’s head, only to see him turn as bright as the punch in his plastic cup.

“Do you must do that?” he grouched, causing her to laugh.

“Of course!” she stated again, giving him another platonic smooch for good measure before straightening up. “Oh! I should give my own gift!”

With that Valhalla ruffled Virgil’s hair before weaving through the crowd again, passing by Gunther as he spoke to Marlon and giving him a smile before heading straight to Gus.

“Gus!” she called happily, bumping his shoulder good heartedly as the large man turned.

“Valhalla!” he replied back in friendly cheer. “What brings you over here?”

“A gift!” she beamed, pulling out a small jar from her pocket and placing it into his hand. “Sorry- I didn’t know you were to wrap them!”

“So you’re my secret gifter,” he let out a boisterous laugh, eyes glinting as he took a look at the jar, his thick brows rising to his hairline. “Is this…?”

“Honey!” Valhalla beamed, proud of her work. “Made it myself! Well, the bees did. It was a joint effort.”

“I haven’t had local honey in a long time,” he smiled, setting the jar onto the table to wrap his arms around Valhalla, causing her to laugh and hug him back in return. “I’ll be sure to enjoy it!”

Valhalla made her way through the townsfolk, talking and smiling as she watched the others pass out their gifts and eat the plethora of food that Gus had provided. She brought some plates back to the table for Virgil while Alex joined her to bring food over to his grandparents. So far no one had come to bring her a gift, but she wasn’t too terribly worried about it. After all, the townsfolk had given her so much over the year, she couldn’t ask for anything more of them.

A soft chime of metal against glass sounded, Lewis standing up on a chair to draw everyone’s attention towards him. Conversation around the room died as the man smiled under his mustache, holding the glass in his hand.

“Welcome, everyone, old and new, to the Feast of the Winter Star,” he began, waiting patiently as a cheer rippled through the room, Abigail’s wolf-whistle causing Caroline to scold her from around a smile. “This year has been quite a wild ride, but spring is just around the corner, and we should all be thankful of the friends and family we have made throughout this year as it draws to its conclusion.”

Valhalla turned her head to smile at Virgil, who gave a shy smile back, fingers picking at his sleeves.

“Now, this year, we are doing something a little bit different,” Lewis continued. “Valhalla, my dear, will you please come up here for a moment?”

Valhalla jerked slightly, blinking owlishly as everyone turned their heads. They were all smiling, and Gunther placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze.

“I didn’t break anything, did I?” she blurted out, causing a smattering of laughter.

“No no, its nothing bad,” Lewis smiled, waving her closer as she eventually got to her feet and made her way to the chair, thoroughly perplexed. “Now, we don’t usually do secret gifts like this, but it was unanimously decided for the entire town to give you a gift. Please- turn around.”

Confused, Valhalla did as what she was told to do, turning away from looking up at Lewis and towards the doorway that led towards the chapel.

It was as if the world slowed down to a grinding halt, not quite believing her eyes at the three familiar figures standing there. Siavash was standing behind the other two, her usual cool face broken by a wide grin as she shoved the two slightly-taller gentlemen forward, their skin as dark as her own and purple eyes wide in return.

She didn’t know when she had ran to them, but her arms were flung around their necks all the same, already in tears as she dragged them down to her height as she wept with unrestrained joy. Calloused hands wrapped around her, the deeper words of Kaveh tickling her ear while Firdaus simply wrapped his arms around the both of them.

“ _When did you come here?!”_ she managed to whisper in their native tongue through the lump in her throat, pressing kisses against their face while Kaveh buried his nose into her hair to hide his own tears.

“ _This morning,”_ Kaveh- her _brother-_ whispered back, pressing slightly scarred lips from old burns from the forges against her temple in return, doing his best not to sniffle. “ _Siavash made us go through all this… cold sand, but it was worth it.”_

Firdaus had no such qualms in hiding his emotions as he visibly burst into tears, shaking while Valhalla turned around enough to kiss his chin.

“ _We all thought the worst when we heard you were captured!”_ he wailed. “ _We never been so happy to be wrong when Siavash hunted us down!”_

Valhalla couldn’t help but laugh between her tears, taking her two younger brothers down to the floor with her as she her legs gave out and her arms around them, as if fearing they would disappear if she let them go. It was easier for Firdaus, who was built like a very tall twig, but Kaveh didn’t shy away, bringing both his eldest sister and the slightly older brother close, hiding his face from the strangers so they wouldn’t see him cry.

Warm arms wrapped around all three of them as Siavash joined them on the floor, leaning against their shoulders as she tutted quietly at them. “ _You are all childish,”_ she murmured, but she couldn’t help her own tearful smile at the partially-reunited family.

To Valhalla, it was the best Winter Star she had ever had.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Heartstone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738310) by [SelenaWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelenaWolf/pseuds/SelenaWolf)




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